Beyond These Shores
by Lemon Yellow Crayon
Summary: Susan's life is crumbling around her in England. When the two worlds she knows are plunged into two different futures, she will have to make a choice between the world she knows and the world beyond the shores of her life.
1. The Letter

**I totally in no way abandoned this story for a year or two... at all. At any rate, it's now back to being edited, and I should be adding to it with (hopefully) fairly frequent new chapters. If any of my old readers are still reading- thanks for sticking with me.**

**Author's note: First, I'd like to say I love C.S. Lewis' books, but seeing the movie I fell in love with the Caspian-Susan pairing. I'd like to defend it like this: ****C****. ****S****. Lewis. ****C****aspian and ****S****usan. It's meant to be. On that note, this story is based on the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, and somewhat on the movie by Disney. All rights belong with them... in other words, please don't sue.**

**The four Pevensies are back in England, and in Narnia, almost two years have passed. Peter is 19, Susan is 17, Edmund is 16 and Lucy is 10 (yes, she should actually be 15, but when I started this story she was 10 and so 10 she remains) and they are all in boarding school. Edmund and Lucy have returned to Narnia once or twice since the trip in which Peter and Susan were told they could not, and as such it's been a hard few months. Now, a letter has reached the siblings from their mother, begging them to return to their childhood home one more , and wondering what could have happened, the children board the train home. That is where our story truly begins, on a small train traveling to Finchley.**

When Susan first got the letter, the only thing she wanted to do was cry. But it seemed she'd been doing too much of that lately, and besides, it would upset Lucy. And if Lucy was upset, the entire trip would seem more worrisome than was necessary. The letter was from her mother, begging her children to return to their childhood home one last time. Susan's immediate fear was that her mother was dying, and summoning her children with her last words. But the writing on the paper was clean and crisp, her mother's writing as it had not been for many years. This worried Susan more than the content of the letter. Lucy was too young to worry about such things, but Edmund had noticed her concern. Peter had doubtless noticed the same thing, but was better at concealing his emotions. Boarding the train to take them to their house, Susan felt a brief flash of déjà vu. It was just like when she had boarded a train not seven months ago to learn of her father's death. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Peter noticed and raised his eyebrows at her. There was no other sign of his outward emotions.

It is surprising, however, how quickly emotion becomes noticeable in a small stuffy rail car. Even Lucy, an incurable optimist, subsided into sulkiness after an hour of games like "I Spy" which only would Edmund play with her. Edmund seemed determined to ignore all of his siblings' behavior and at a station went to buy Lucy a candy, which improved her mood. Susan smiled briefly as they left. Edmund was quite the diplomat. The only problem with this arrangement was that it left Peter and Susan in the carriage together. Lately, this was a sure-fire way to create a problem.

To Susan's credit, Peter started it. "You think that something has gone wrong, don't you?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "No, Peter," she said sweetly, "Mother's just calling us in perfect handwriting (which she hasn't had since Father died) in a panic calling all of us home in the middle of the war to ask what color to paint the kitchen."

"Oh, calm down, Sue," Peter said. "Don't get so upset. It's just a simple question."

"You're one to talk about being upset easily." The retort came easily off Susan's lips, a reference to the not-so distant past in which Peter had been in the habit of fighting anyone over anything. From Peter's scowl, he knew exactly what she referred to.

"That's over and done with, and has been for a long while."

"Not really that long," Susan said spitefully. "Ten months or so?"

"You're missing the point," Peter said, changing the subject with an abruptness that let Susan know that he considered the subject of his fighting days closed. "You're letting your emotions, and the fact you think something's wrong, affect everyone else. You might be a little more considerate of the rest of us. Heaven knows that Ed and I knew that everything might be wrong when we got the letter, but Lucy doesn't. So long as we act positive, there's no need for her to worry."

He's probably right, the sensible part of Susan thought. But the part of her that was spiteful of his superior attitude answered. "You're very confident that keeping Lucy completely oblivious is a good thing, aren't you? Are you sure you just don't want to consider that anything might have happened to Mother in your absence? Or do you just not care if something has?"

"Oh, don't be utterly ridiculous!" cried Peter, his temper short and worn with arguing. "This isn't about some superiority, she's our mother, and Lucy's our sister! I just want them to be all right." He paused for a moment, and got his temper in check. Then, he continued in a more normal voice. "I know what worries you have. I have the same ones, but the difference is I don't let them rule how I appear. You do, and Susan, you might just work a little harder at making them invisible. Lucy's getting worried."

Susan got to her feet angrily. "As if you care-"

Peter jumped to his feet also, an angry glint in his eye, cutting her off. "Of course I care, stupid," he hissed. There was something close to anger in his eyes. "What do you think I've been trying to tell you? Of course I care. She's my mother as well, you know. I care so much it feels like I'm bleeding to death, but I need to put on a good face. We don't know what's happened yet, we must remain all appearances for Lucy and Edmund. Who, speaking of which, are on their way over here."

Susan knew he was right. Lucy shouldn't be worried about their arguments. Still, she couldn't stop herself from making one last hit. "You're not the one bleeding to death," she murmured, loud enough for Peter to hear each word. "That would be Father." She couldn't see his expression, but she could imagine it. Father had been close to Peter. He'd taken his death even harder than Susan had. Still, she turned to Lucy, putting a smile on her face and in her voice. "Hi, Lu! What sort of candy did you bully Edmund into buying you?" Lucy, ecstatic at having a new person to talk to, launched into a detailed description of the candy, the guards and the people they saw. While she prattled on, Susan sat, staring out the window and wondering what her father would think if he'd seen the scene that had just taken place.

The first thing Edmund had noticed when he entered the carriage was Susan's overly bright attitude. That in itself would have been suspicious after her surliness this morning. But the next thing he noticed was Peter's expression, and it confirmed his suspicion that the two had been fighting. Had Peter looked different, he might have been exasperated. He put a good deal of effort into keeping the peace between his older brother and sister these days. But Peter's expression was horribly stretched, a smile that looked sickly. In Edmund's eyes, pain radiated from every inch of his frozen features. His movements were jerky as he helped Lucy and Edmund into carriage, a smile on his face and deadness in his eyes. This fight, whatever it was, had obviously involved some hit of Susan's that was completely out of line. Susan was normally nice, kind, a loving sister. But push her the right (or wrong) way, and she could be cruel beyond belief. Lately, it seemed like any word or action could set her off.

So it was with more compassion than normal that Edmund slid across the bench to where Peter sat, as far away as possible from Susan. In a small carriage, this wasn't far, but Edmund noted the gesture.

"You want to talk about it?" Edmund asked quietly. In the past few months, he'd become a master at talking out of the side of his mouth. Peter was better- you never even saw is lips move.

"No."

"What was it this time? The letter?" Edmund's guesses were normally good.

Peter knew it was useless to resist. Edmund was going to make him talk about it, regardless of Peter's feelings or he might pin him down and make Peter give up the information. In fact, Edmund had done this twice. It might be somewhat harder in a full carriage, but he had not doubt Edmund would try. "We talked about it. She thinks there's something wrong. So do I. I told her to put up a brave face."

Edmund knew when just a single word would do. "And?"

Peter sighed and surrendered the details. "She accused me of not caring because I didn't show any emotions. I suppose I got a bit upset. I told her I felt like I was bleeding to death inside."

Edmund could see where this was going, and he didn't like it. She'd better not have, he thought. He waited for Peter to finish, knowing no prompt was necessary.

"She told me I wasn't the one bleeding to death, that that had been Dad." Peter's voice was harsh on the last word, as though saying it through gritted teeth made him more of a man. Edmund wished (briefly, but reverently) that he had the time and space to force Peter to be a bit less foolish about speaking of his father's death, or barring that, a heavy object to hit him with.

Also, an object to throw at Susan, given the look on Peter's face. Edmund's hand clenched into a fist. It was obvious Susan had been provoked, but that... that was just one line you didn't cross. Every one of the Pevansies had been devastated by the death of their father, but no one more than Peter. It was not only the loss of his beloved father, which would of course hit Peter the hardest as he was the firstborn. It was that Peter, in another life, had been a commander, a soldier. He had lead men and Narnians into battle side by side and had lost no few of them himself. He had seen useless sacrifice of men and had wept. He understood military strategy, the pain of a failed plan resulting in the death of many soldiers. And he had watched the strategy in which his father's unit had been placed and understood that his father was dead because of bad planning and poor leadership. This knowledge weighed heavily upon Peter.

All this Edmund assessed in an instant. He pushed Peter lightly. "Feel better for talking about it?"

"No," Peter said, but anyone could see it helped him to talk.

"Well, if you feel that way," Edmund said slyly, "I'll just beat it out of you next time. I could even start now if you'd like."

"You just try that," said Peter, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

Edmund nodded, as if considering something, then with a flying tackle knocked Peter from his seat into where Susan and Lucy were playing "school".

"Teacher!" Lucy laughed, pointing at Susan. "Teacher, look at what they're doing!"

"Sit down, both young students," said Susan, who had pulled her hair up and looked like she was sucking a lemon, an effect spoiled by the fact she was laughing. Edmund looked up with a brief grin. Even while imitating someone, she was laughing and looking more like the Susan he remembered.

"Yes, ma'am." nodded Peter vigorously.

"What did you say your name was again?" asked Edmund.

"It's Miss Lemonie." whispered Lucy, as if in class. "You remember that governess we had when we were little?"

"When you were little," Peter contradicted. "I was always big."

"Be not talking, class!" said 'Miss Lemonie'. "That is not for educational purposes!" Lucy giggled and Edmund laughed, with even Peter managing a laugh. Miss Lemonie had been very concerned with things being for educational purposes. She had also spoken with a certain alarming brusqueness which Susan got almost exactly right.

"Now, we will study- Are those candies?" Susan asked.

"Yes, ma'am." giggled Lucy, her mouth full.

"I will be taking them now," laughed Susan, grabbing the bag and gulping down one. "For -um- educational purposes!"

"No, you don't" cried Lucy, jumping at her and before long the game of school had turned into grab the candies and keep-away, and the children looked for the entire world like normal children playing. Edmund stopped to display the scene of his handiwork, and allowed himself a brief grin. Before long, though, that grin was spoiled by being hit with the sac of candies, and Edmund devoted himself to the game.

It's amazing how fast tension can re-appear, Susan thought as she adjusted her hat. In the taxi, even walking on the streets up to her old house everything had seemed fine. But now, approaching the drive, Susan felt the fear she thought was gone surrounding her, choking her. There were so many memories here, so many old ghosts of a past life. This was the place she had last seen her father alive, and where she had learned of his death. She didn't know if she could handle another tragedy here.

"Easy, Sue." Peter whispered his arm suddenly on hers. "Keep it together. The house won't hurt us."

Despite all the hurtful things she'd said to him in the carriage, Susan was glad that Peter was her brother, and no more so than now. He understood how she was feeling and was trying to make it better however he could. Just like when he was High King, she thought. But she quickly squashed the thought. Peter was king no more; she was queen no more... they were just siblings in a war. It seemed to Susan they had always been in war, in Narnia or in England.

Walking up the little road to the house, the door opened unexpectedly. Susan's mother stood there, not ill or even hurt. She looked positively rosy in comparison with the last time Susan had seen her. But then, that had been at the death of Father, so perhaps it wasn't a fair comparison. She couldn't understand the difference, however, until a man stepped out from behind the door. Susan's mother looked up at him with such love, such devotion that Susan instantly understood why they had been called here. There was no illness here, but something was about to happen which would also make her lose her mother.

Peter saw it, too. His hand twitched at his waist, a tiny gesture to anyone but one of the Penvansies. For Susan, who knew that was where his sword had been kept while he was in Narnia, it was a glaringly obvious reaction. His hand twitching to it showed his automatic reaction was that of a threat to him or his family. And Susan supposed it was a threat.

She sidled up to him. "You know, I miss my bow, too." she whispered. "But I at least try not to be so obvious about it."

He glanced down, as if noticing for the first time that his hand was tensed to grab his sword. He grimaced, and with an obvious effort relaxed it. "We can't know it's anything," he whispered. "He might be an insurance salesperson, a house guest, an unwanted suitor..."

"He's no insurance salesman; he's far from unwanted and from the look on her face if he's a house guest it's going to be permanently. That's the expression of a woman in love." The words tore Susan's heart, but she could not lie about what was so obvious to anyone with eyes.

He glanced up, pained at her words, horrified to see his father so soon replaced. "How would you know so much about a woman in love?"

His words felt like burning arrows on her body. Searing, horrible pain seemed to crush every particle of her body, making her shake with the horror of what he had said. It was not his intent to make her bleed, but he could not have chosen crueler words. "Because," she said, gritting her teeth, "I've been one of them."

It was obvious he knew what she was talking about. "He's gone, Susan. He's gone, and we can't go back. Though," he mused, "if we did go back I could have my sword with me now... and I could deal with this intruder in a timely fashion."

Feeling Edmund's eyes on her, Susan tried to smile. "A murder might put a bit of a damper on the housewarming."

"That it might," he agreed, visibly glad his words hadn't caused too much damage. "Come on, let's go greet Mother and find out what's going on."

Walking in the door, Susan greeted her mother detachedly. She already knew that no matter what her mother said, she was going to lose her. It tore at her heart just a little more. As her mother showed them into the newly renovated sitting room, Susan smiled blandly, sat back, and tried to close the gaping hole in her heart.


	2. Tea, Biscuits and Heartbreak

Peter stood in the family kitchen he'd grown up in, waiting for the tea kettle to boil. Typical Mum, he thought tiredly, to serve bad news with tea and biscuits. Only to her, it wasn't bad news. It was good news, she'd found another man she loved and was going to marry. Father hadn't been dead yet three months! Peter loved his mother, but this was too much for him. Hoping to not reveal how angry and hurt he was, he volunteered to go put on the tea while Mother talked with everyone else. It was proving to be a long talk, with this being the third time Peter had gone out to get more tea. Fortunately, these tea breaks provided Peter with an opportunity to collect his thoughts. He was not so much angry as disappointed. How could anyone who truly loved their husband remarry in so little a time? He wasn't the only one angry; when Mother had announced she was remarrying, Edmund had got up and abruptly left the room, leaving an awkward silence that had been his trademark in earlier years. Peter sighed and leaned against the Aga oven. If he thought it would solve anything, he would have left, too. But this wasn't something he could fix. That was what he was so frustrated over. That was what he hated. As much as he might try, Peter could never influence his mother's decisions and wasn't about to try now. Mother insisted on seeing him as a child, even now that he was a legal adult! He shouldn't have needed that to get her to listen, anyway. He'd been an adult in Narnia, not so long ago…or very long ago, depending on whose time you were counting by. Narnia. He sighed again. Strange things were brewing in Narnia, not monsters, but something odd. The last time the four Penvensies had left, it had been 1300 years for Narnia. Yet now, 10 months later, Edmund reported it had been only about 18 months for Narnia. But who could understand Narnia's time?

The kettle started to squeal, bringing Peter back to the present and today's problems. As her poured out tea for five, no, SIX, he considered what he could do. The answers were few. He could put up a fuss, or get over it. They would both have the same end result, only getting over it would be less worrying to Lucy and make his mother happier. Peter put down in kettle, staring at the six perfect tea cups. In the past two years, he'd been in more fights than he cared to remember. Particularly memorable were his fights in the dormitory against four other boys and a duel to the death against Miraz, the usurper king. He'd had no regrets about choosing either of those battles. But this…this fight… He groaned into his hands. He did not want to step away from it, but what other choice was there? None at all.

So it was with a broken heart, an angry mind and a smile that Peter entered the sitting room, bringing the tea tray. The gentleman (whose name was Mr. William St. John) looked grateful for the interruption. Edmund, who had all the outward appearances of a perfect gentleman, sat across from Mr. St John with fire in his eyes. Peter knew how it felt to be scrutinized under Ed's penetrating stare, and a small measure of sympathy rose in his heart for Mr. St John.

"Ah, tea. Thank you, Peter, m'lad." The sympathy Peter had previously felt vanished as quickly as it had come. He shook his head. _Choose your battles_. It wasn't going to help to get angry.

"Do sit down, Peter dear," Mrs. Pevensie said distractedly. Peter nodded and sat, his lips a tight line. He didn't trust himself to speak. "There's just one more thing to go over. It's rather important."

That has to be the understatement of the year, Susan thought wryly. If Mum thought it was important enough to mention its especial importance in this time when so much was important, it had to be big. Indeed, Mrs. Pevensie was wringing her handkerchief nervously in her hands. That's silly, Susan thought. If she really loves him, she shouldn't have to be nervous around other people, telling them that she loves him and wants to spend her life with him. When you are with the person you love, it should be special, it should feel right, it shouldn't be like this. It feels like- But she allowed herself to think that way no more. There is no way back, she fiercely repeated. I live here, with my family. Here in Finchely, England. But somehow, that wasn't all true anymore.

Mum was talking again. "It's like this. William has asked me to be his wife, and, well…" Oh, for heavens sake! Susan thought. Just say it. You love him, don't you? "Well, you see, William doesn't live here. He's American, you see."

It was at this point which Peter spoke. "We can hear all his accent, Mum. What are you trying to say?" Susan looked up, surprised to see Peter clutching an armrest so hard his knuckles were dead white. I expect he supposes he looks relaxed, Susan mused. But why was he so upset? It had been obvious since they had entered the house that Mum was planning to marry Mr. William St John. She loved him. Couldn't Peter be happy with that?

"Well, dears, I…I'm…I'm going to go live with him. In his home, in America."

There then passed a dreadful silence, in which Lucy burst into tears and hugged her mother, and Peter barely managed to not break the armrest. Susan spoke first. "We're happy for you, Mum. No matter where you are, if you love him and you're happy, so are we." The moment the words left her lips Edmund looked over sharply, his eyes taking in (and probably memorizing) her expression for later analysis. She stuck her tongue out at him. It was true, every word. But she expected the others didn't see it that way.

Mr. St. John looked as if he would run up and hug Susan. Being greeted by your beloved's surly children is probably not anyone's favorite way to spend the afternoon, but Mr. St. John was not a man who enjoyed confrontation. Besides, he was not as young as he once was, and Helen's eldest boy (Peter, his name was) looked as if he would start engaging in fisticuffs in a few moments. So Mr. St. John appreciated Susan's words.

But a strange change had come over Peter, and he let go of the armrest with a sigh (Susan, however, winced for the condition of the poor chair). Instead of appearing angry, his face settled into an expression of calm, and he looked quizzically at Susan as though she was speaking for the first time.

"Susan's right, Mum," he eventually said. "If you are happy, we are. Although," he added with a wry grin, "we may have scared poor Mr. St. John so much that he's changed his mind by now."

"Oh, _Peter_!" Mrs. Pevensie cried. But her tone was such that Susan knew she wasn't really angry with Peter, in fact she was nothing short of ecstatic that he had accepted her betrothed. She got up and hugged him, and in half a moment Edmund walked over and hugged her as well. Susan and Lucy went over to greet Mr. St. John properly, who was so perplexed at the sudden change of heart that Peter had had that he didn't appear to realize what was going on. The long and short of it was that there was a very emotional scene in the living room which involved hugging, handshakes and some tears.

Ah, Peter, Susan thought, observing him now shaking hands with Mr. St. John, who was insisting Peter call him William. Even Edmund had seemed partly confused by his sudden acceptance of William, but there was nothing that Peter could hide from her. It was all because of Lucy. She had reminded him that he was supposed to keep the family together, safe, and happy. He was Dad now, to Lucy at least. His getting upset had only made Lucy upset, and he had noticed and corrected his behavior. He was learning to pick his battles. Ah, Peter, she thought again, with the air of one watching from very far away. Every day you grow up, and it seems like I am left farther and farther in the dust, ever in… But she dared not complete her thought. Home, she thought fiercely, as if repeating the word would make it so. I'm home now.

Peter, as always, noticed when her thoughts were not in the room, a shot her a glare over their mother's head. How can he always do that, she wondered crossly. What was even more annoying was that he was right, Susan should be concentrating and making her mother happy right now. She willed herself to listen to what her mother was saying at that moment. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that everything changed.

Mrs. Pevensie was speaking excitedly to Lucy. "And Lucy dear, you'll just love America, I know you will."

The four siblings stiffened at exactly the same moment, as if someone had simultaneously pinched them. Edmund spoke first, with an air of supreme calm that was not at all convincing. "What exactly do you mean by that, Mum?"

Mrs. Pevensie appeared rather flustered. "Well, I'm sure she will, Edmund. Of course, I do understand that it will be a bit difficult, but there's so much to do there that I'm sure she'll have lots of fun. Won't you, Lucy dear?" She certainly didn't look it. Lucy's face was a mask of dawning horror. Susan, Edmund and Peter had expressions of calculated politeness, so different from their carefree laughter of a moment ago.

She's taking Lucy away, whispered a little voice in Susan's mind. Heaven help us, she's taking Lucy to America. Susan tried to ignore the little voice, with limited degrees of success.

Edmund was speaking again. "Mum, shouldn't you talk about this? Have you even asked Lucy if she wants to go with you?"

"Edmund Pevensie." That was Mum's strict voice, to say the conversation was over. "Where else would she go? I mean, I am her mother."

"And," Peter said, in a voice which promised argument, "I am her brother." Susan could have put her head into her hands right then and there. Why, why must Peter be so difficult?

Mrs. Pevensie was about to say something, but Edmund cut her off. "Don't be silly, Mum. Terms of Dad's will and all, leaving him with all the legal paperwork, surely that means he has the right to decide…" His voice trailed off. Susan, who was fully aware that Edmund could tell you exactly what that paperwork was because he had helped Peter fill it out, took a deep breath. It appeared this meeting wouldn't be over soon.

"Peter Pevensie, don't you start acting so high-and-mighty! You are my son, don't you forget that. I say Lucy will come with me, and that's final." Mum was upset. Maybe that's where I get it from, Susan mused.

In two quick strides, Peter was across the room and standing beside his mother. Susan had to strain her ears to hear his words, spoken in a feverish undertone. "Mum, I understand this is hard for you, moving to a new country. I even understand wanting to take Lucy. But you need to understand this- she is not leaving, and nothing you can say will change that. Please don't fight me on this. It would be… cruel. To all of us."

To Susan it seemed that it happened very fast, but suddenly both her mum and Peter were sitting and discussing where Lucy would live in England.

"We've stayed in boarding school for a long while. There should be no problem with continuing that arrangement." That was Ed, sensible as always.

Mrs. Pevensie stared at her strong-willed children, and a slight smile played around her lips. "Heaven knows that your father would laugh," she mused. "And he said _I_ was strong-willed. But," she continued, "there are some requirements you must meet, Peter. You must promise not to try and enroll in the military again. There's too much uncertainty. I'd also like you to buy a house, one which Lucy, Edmund and Susan could stay in over the holidays and the like."

"Why me?" asked Susan, slightly insulted. Peter rolled his eyes as if that was a stupid question.

"You're not of age, Sue. But yes, Mum, I do agree."

"And you will buy a house?"

"An apartment, but yes."

"You won't enroll in the military?"

"No, Mum."

"Alright." Mrs. Pevensie suddenly looked teary-eyed. "Look at the time. You'd better hurry to catch the train. I'll write to you as soon as we know the date we're leaving."

Susan didn't see any reason they couldn't catch a later train, and so came to the conclusion that Mum simply wanted to be alone now. As she helped Lucy into her coat (Ed all but threw a tantrum when Peter tried to do the same for him), she watched her mother's face. Slightly haggard from the argument with her children, she still possessed the glow that had lead Susan to first believe she was in love. Susan suspected her mother would be fine, wherever she went. As she embraced her on the way out, Susan couldn't help but feel as though another piece of her life, her heart, had fallen and shattered. Out she walked, with her siblings, into the cold night air. Down the walk, she turned and stared at the house of her youth. The door was shut. Susan's mouth twisted into a grin, bitter and sweet and sad all at once. How ironic.

_"Stay with me. Please."_

_"No."_

King Caspian the Tenth, ruler of Narnia and lands surrounding it, awoke with a start. His lips parted in a silent curse. That dream. That cursed dream. Was it to rob him of every quiet moment? The problem was, it wasn't just a dream. He knew he wouldn't sleep now; instead, he rose, walking to the open balcony and staring out over the land.

He had been a fool to ask her, that much he knew. But what else could he have done? She had just told him she was leaving, leaving forever and never returning. And then she had kissed him, which had been quite surprising at first and quite enlightening after. It wasn't just the kiss (although it was a very nice kiss, Caspian would be the first to say), it was the feelings it had awoken within him. He had realized, too late, that he cared. And so, he had asked her, as soon as their lips parted. He was sure he'd sounded like a perfect fool.

_"Stay with me. Please."_

And she'd looked at him, smiling that sweet, sad smile of hers, the smile which told him her answer before her words did.

Simple and cold. It was Susan as Queen Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia, who spoke the word which had doomed them before they could discover what "them" was. But it was Susan, just Susan, the Susan he had come to know and yes, love, who had looked out of those eyes.

Running fingers through his already disheveled hair, Caspian stared out on the landscape. What had she been thinking, as she turned away from him? Did she regret it? Was she as cold as she seemed? And why couldn't she acknowledge that they had something, maybe, something that could have been, should have been? Why couldn't she say yes?

In all practicality, Caspian knew why. He even understood it. Susan would have no way to know if she would ever see her family again. She would have to give up everything in exchange for something that might, someday, be something more. It was a risk, a gamble, in which the losses you could receive were too low to make up for the benefits.

But even so, even now, he wished she'd said yes. He wished she had turned to him, said I'll be back, or even just told him that she cared. That would have been enough. But she had turned away like it was nothing to her!

He knew he wasn't without blame, far from it. There was a thousand and one times he should have said something, done something, asked something. And he hadn't, a fact for which he cursed himself frequently. But still…could she really not care? Was he obsessing over someone who couldn't care back?

And if so, why did he care so much? Why couldn't he let go, just admit that it was over, just say that she was gone? The answer was that he cared. He cared too much, too much for his good or hers. This wasn't some lovesick attraction, or even appreciation of Susan's kissing skills. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted the best for her, and he rather selfishly thought that the best for her included him. Or at least, he had hoped for that.

Why couldn't she have said it was something? Did she really not care for him? Was he "just a friend" to her? And why must she drive him mad even now, almost a full two years after she had left?

For a moment, he imagined her standing beside him. But even when she was only there in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to pepper her with his questions. He just wanted to hold her and ask her to stay with him one more time.

_"No."_

The word shattered his fantasy. It was her choice to make, and she had made it. She would not stay, for whatever reason. Even in his own mind, she did as she pleased.

Did it change anything, really? She had decided to leave him; she might not even care about him. Did it change the fact that he cared; so much it could wake him in the dead of night? No. No, it didn't. She might not ever care, but he would. He only cared that she was happy. If he could just know she was happy…it would be enough.

His feelings when she first refused his offer had been complex, he himself slow to understand what he had heard. But slowly, he remembered.

Shock.

Disappointment.

Horror at never seeing her again.

"_No."_

Then slowly, the realization that she wasn't coming back.

All the anger he'd had at her leaving, all the questions, all the pain, all the regret, all the nights spent tossing and turning, wondering is she cared. All the days he'd spent hoping he knew, all the nights he'd spent reliving their time together. All the scars, on him and inside, he had because of her and fighting for her land, now his land, Narnia. All for this.

"_No."_

His hand closed in a fist, and without even checking to see if anyone was watching, Caspian the Tenth allowed himself to cry.


	3. Lucy Explains the Facts of Life

Helen Pevensie walked back into her living room to pick up the teacups her children had left sitting on armchairs and the piano. She couldn't help but notice that though all four children had drunk tea, Susan had taken the time to put her teacup away in the sink to be washed. Even when she was surrounded by change, Susan remembered basic manners, unlike, say, Edmund, who had left his teacup on the floor. She reached down to pick it up.

Another hand reached down and picked up the teacup, thereby sparing her from bending over. William St. John held the neat little floral teacup in his hand with a slight smile. Helen smiled. It was sweet and kind, something she had missed for far too long, something she hadn't expected to find in a relationship again. Together, they carried the teacups to the kitchen sink to be washed. Dishwashing was always a time they could talk, and the familiar ritual of wash, dry, put away soothed Helen's nerves a little.

"So what did you think of them?" she asked her betrothed, a bit nervous to hear his response. William wouldn't hide what he thought from her, but she did so want him to approve.

There was a slight pause before he answered. "They are very different from how I thought they would be. Maybe I haven't been around children for a while-" Here he paused to wipe his glasses. "But regardless… they seemed so much older than I expected."

Helen nodded to herself. "They've had to grow up fast…I suppose, really, that it's my fault. First they went away to the country, and when they came back I barely recognized them. Paul was still fighting in the war, and they couldn't live here. Then I started getting reports that Peter was fighting, all the time he was fighting. They called me to his school and I didn't know who he was…He had to identify himself to me. I was always the distant parent to them, Paul really bonded more closely. Then suddenly the reports stopped, everything had changed with them again. Then Paul died…" She paused for a long moment. "They've had to grow up so fast," she repeated. "I've not been half the parent I meant to be, not to any of them. I don't even know them any more. I thought Lucy would be happy to go to America. Two years ago, she would have been. But everything's changed. And again, all I can do is stand here and wave good-bye."

William took her hand. "What else can any of us do?" he asked quietly. "It's the doom of being a parent- that you can teach and guide, but in the end you must simply wave goodbye and pray with all your heart that they'll do the right thing."

There was a long pause before Helen spoke again. "When Paul died, I stopped being a parent, William. I couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't even pretend it was alright. And they just had to deal with it by themselves, on their own. Did I teach them right? What did they learn from that?"

"Grief is not a sin, Helen. And sorrow is not something to be ashamed of. That's what they learned." He looked into her eyes. "You may not think it, but you've taught them well. They'll be all right."

She looked away, down into the grey soapy water. "I know they will."

It was a distinctly nasty day. Grey clouds and rain outside, and final exams to study for inside. Susan decided she would stop looking out the window. It was starting to depress her. She instead looked at the table, on which several heavy volumes of literature, a leather journal and several pens were sitting. Right. What was on the table was also depressing. It was a lose-lose situation. Susan was sitting on the bed in her small dormitory, trying to avoid studying a particularly musky volume of William Wordsworth's poetry. She had been copying the poems in a futile attempt to help her memorize them. She lay back and started to recite "Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain".

As she reached the fifth verse, Lucy opened the door to the room. She bounced into the cramped chamber. Bounced is not the right word. She _danced_ into the room. Dancing was Lucy's latest passion, and she was surprisingly good at it. Now, she no longer walked anywhere but danced. Whenever Ed commented on how good she was, she had pointed out that she'd had fifteen years experience in Narnia. Ed claimed that didn't count, because it hadn't been ballet. Lucy and him had argued to the point where Lucy had challenged him to a dancing competition, her and Peter vs. him and Susan. That had been last weekend, one of the most enjoyable and silly afternoons Susan had ever spent. Lucy had won, of course. She still had a glow from beating Edmund, who didn't like to lose, especially to Lucy.

"Edmund and Peter are coming to visit in a little while," Lucy announced. Susan looked up from her book with a grin.

"That would explain why they sent a note this morning, saying they were coming, Lu."

"Well, how was I supposed to know they sent out a note to you as well?" asked Lucy, somewhat miffed at having her surprise spoiled. "But I've got an idea…"

"What's that?" Susan asked absent-mindedly. Lucy always had an idea.

"I think you and me should have a talk."

"A **what**?" That was certainly different from what Lucy normal said. Her ideas were normally tricks and surprises, and frankly Susan preferred those a lot more. Lucy's idea of a talk in Narnia could touch on such varied topics as the proper disposal of magical weapons during a thunderstorm to the eating habits of hedgehogs (as opposed to Hedgehogs, who, as all know, are far more noble creatures) in under fifteen minutes.

"A talk. About _him_."

Susan's palms were suddenly sweaty. "You don't talk, Lu, you babble. Like a brook, incessantly. I've often noticed the difference".

'And you, Susan, use specific flaws in word choice to obfuscate your own reluctance to start a conversation. Don't think I don't notice that. Talk". Lucy had a determined glint in her eye that boded ill for Susan's chances of escaping the conversation.

She decided instead to delay. "Obfuscate isn't even a word". It was.

"Yes it is!" Lucy was rather indignant; she had learned the word just last week to impress a teacher. Susan, however, smiled at her minor victory.

"Not even a word, I bet it's not even in the dictionary…" Her voice trailed off as it became obvious Lucy had noticed the ploy. "Why don't you check?" she suggested weakly.

Lucy instead pointed the dictionary at her in a threatening manner. "Su. Talk, now."

There was no point in pretending she didn't know exactly who Lucy was talking about, and also the dictionary had a certain malignant air to it. "There's nothing to talk about, Lucy. He was very nice."

"Are you sure that's all that he was?" Lucy's grin had a wicked tint which told Susan that this talk could be very uncomfortable very fast, and she had been quite right to try and avoid it.

"He was nice, he didn't argue with the Dear Little Friend, he was a good commander, a good king, he cared about all of his people… and he had very nice lips." Susan grinned at her sister, fully expecting her to jump back squealing about how icky that was. Instead, Lucy only wagged her finger at her.

"You can't avoid me that easily! You forget that I was once your age, older too, and that it doesn't bother me when guys have nice lips." Susan could have slapped herself. How had she forgotten that? "No, the fact that you're joking about it only shows that you want to make light of a serious situation… which means it was serious, which means _love_!" Lucy made the whole thing sound ridiculously simple, probably by leaving out a few steps in her process of reasoning. Of course, it might also be insanity on Lucy's part. She reflected on that for a moment.

Lucy gave her a cheeky grin. "Am I right?"

"I think you've been spending too much time with Edmund. You're picking up his over-analysis." Susan's tart reply rang hollow. And when had Lucy gotten so smart?

"Come on, Susan, won't you tell me?"

"No." It wasn't something she needed to know.

"Please, Susan? Please please please please please pl-" Susan threw a pillow at her. Before Lucy could answer, she did.

"Only if you promise to be quiet and never tell anyone, especially Peter or Edmund."

Lucy smirked. "Of course I do."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me," Susan murmured. "Well listen up, then."

"There's not really much I can tell you," she started. "It was nothing at first, just a feeling, a crush I guess you could call it. He was fairly attractive-" Lucy broke off into a snort. Susan stuck out her tongue and continued. "All right, he was very attractive. Happy?" Lucy nodded. "Now let me finish. He stood up to Peter- not many people can state their opinion when faced with the High King of Narnia and say that they disagree with him. Well, I can, but that's different. I always thought that after the war, maybe, we could spend some time together. Hard to talk with someone in the middle of a battle. So we met a few times after that, we talked… I thought we should take it slow. Then Aslan told us we were leaving, but I didn't really process it until the tree was there and we were about to leave. And he was standing there, just so surprised at us leaving, at me for not telling him. I thought that if I was never going to see him again, I wanted to remember him. So I kissed him. If I knew what it would be like for me now, I never would have done it."

"What is it like for you now?" Lucy asked, surprised that her sister would say something like that.

"It's not how I thought it would be, Lu." Susan gave her her sad smile. "Kissing him, I thought it would be nice. I thought it would help me remember him. If I'm to be honest, I wanted to kiss him. But all it did was make me realize how much I would miss him, how much I wanted to stay. He asked me to stay, you know."

"He what?" That was news to Lucy.

"He asked me to stay with him," Susan repeated. "After the kiss… He asked me if I would stay with him." She laughed a short, bitter laugh. "I guess you know what I said. Now all I can do is wonder if I did the right thing."

Lucy was quiet for a moment. "But why? Don't you love him?"

"Oh, Lucy," Susan said. "One day, maybe. I never really got the chance to find out. You can't discover if you love someone after a single kiss, it's just not enough time. He knew that. He asked me to stay to discover if what we had would be love, if we let it. And I… I couldn't do that. Maybe, in another time, another place, what we had would have been enough. But it wasn't worth it. I would have had to leave you, Peter, Edmund, Mum, Dad, everybody and never see them again. And what if it hadn't worked out? There would be no way back. I'd have to live forever wondering what had happened to you. I never would have even been able to say yes, since it was Aslan's decision. But I wanted to say yes so badly, Lu. Despite all of it, I wanted to say yes. But it wasn't enough. It never would have been."

Lucy sat by her sister. For once, she didn't say anything. In that moment, Lucy could see why Susan made her decision and why she regretted it. The knowledge was saddening, and to be honest, Lucy had been surprised by the depths to which Susan had tried to justify her decision. "Far be it from me to give my older sister advice…" she started.

"But you will anyway?" Susan said, rolling her eyes.

"But I will anyway," Lucy conceded. "I think that you put yourself in an impossible situation. You would be unhappy if you stayed, and unhappy if you left. And I personally think it was very mean of Caspian to ask you to make a decision that would leave you unhappy any way," she finished, in a tone of voice that clearly said 'so there'.

"He didn't mean to, I'm sure…" Susan said in a tone which clearly stated she didn't want to climb out of her depressed mood.

"You made your choice, Susan. Don't regret it. Please, Susan… everyone just wants you to be happy." Susan opened her mouth to say something, anything to comfort Lucy. She sounded so sad. "No, just listen. No matter what decision you made, you would end up second guessing it. It's one of the facts of life." Lucy smiled up at Susan.

"It's one of the **what**?" Edmund's voice made Susan jump, hitting her head on the bed frame. He had obviously entered the room in time to hear the last words Lucy said. Susan paused for a moment to think of the inclinations that that phrase had, especially when spoken by Lucy. She started to giggle, then fell into all-out laughing. Lucy was cracking up, unable to hold it in. Even Ed started to laugh, although he was still ignorant as to what Lucy meant. They were laughing so much that when Peter entered the room, two minutes later, they were all still laughing.

"Am I missing something?" he asked, perplexed.

"Nothing, Pete," said Edmund, wiping his eyes.

Lucy pulled on Peter's sleeve. "Come on, Peter, let's go for a walk and let them talk. We need to talk too."

"About what?" Peter asked, slightly worried by the fact that all his siblings had been laughing when he entered the room and because the last time Lucy had gone on a walk with him, Edmund had dumped pudding on him from a window above.

"Lucy wants to talk with you about the facts of life, Peter!" Ed smirked as he watched his brother's reaction. He immediately turned bright red and started stuttering. "Have fun!" he added, shutting the door on the still gibbering Peter.

As soon as it was shut, Susan burst into fresh spasms of laughter. "Did you see- his face? He was- so- scared!" Edmund cracked up also, as he recalled Lucy's determined expression and Peter's helpless one. It was several minutes before either of them could speak clearly.

"Seriously, though," Edmund finally managed to say. "What does Lucy want us to talk about?"

Susan's face fell, and Edmund had his answer. Not again, he mentally groaned.

"Edmund, I know you haven't wanted to talk about it… I suppose you thought it would hurt me. But I just really need to know. How's he doing? Did he mention me at all?" Susan's hopeful face was right beside Edmund. And, looking at it, he made a choice.

"He's getting married, Susan. That's why I haven't wanted to tell you about him. He told me that you should move on, just like he had."

In the years after, Edmund would always swear that he had never seen his sister in as much pain as she was then. But he also always said he had done it so that she would never be in any more pain from _him_. There was a very long time before Susan spoke again. Her face was turned so Edmund couldn't see her expression, but he could hear the pain in her voice.

"Is she… very beautiful?"

"He seems to think so," Edmund said. "She's blonde and willowy and has green eyes." The last part was purely spite, for Edmund knew that Susan was very proud of her blue eyes, and saying that Caspian found green eyes more attractive was painful for her to hear.

"I see." Then Susan turned her face to him, and he could see the glistening tears on her face. "Thank you, Edmund."

He did not say anything else, partly because nothing else was necessary and partly because he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He felt like a fake, a traitor on par with what he had done before by supporting the White Witch. But then he remembered Susan's listlessness and tears over the past year or so, and he hardened his heart and tried to convince himself the words were necessary.

"ED!" The shout brought him out of his musing. It was Peter. "Ed, come here, quickly!" He jumped to his feet and ran out the door. He had no clue why Peter was calling him, but if he had to guess… Although he was glad that Peter no longer insisted on fighting all his battles by himself, he wished that he hadn't taken on the role of abused sidekick.

Susan evidently thought the same thing, because she was behind him in a second, yelling down the hallway as they ran. "Peter Pevensie, I said no more fighting!" They charged around the corner and out the door together, following the sounds of the occasional yelp.

Lucy entered Susan's room, unsurprised that both Susan and Edmund had run to Peter's aid. Really, was it so hard for him to just stop answering back? It hadn't even been that bad of a thing the boy had said about her, but Peter had taken quite a bit of offense and punched the boy then and there. When she had last left (she had gone for bandages, as doubtless Peter would need them again), the fight had been four on one. Yet she still had no doubt Peter would win, especially as Edmund was joining him.

She was about to leave when she noticed Susan's book of poems. One which Susan had copied out lay on the table. She picked it up and read it.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,

Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard

In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees

A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide,

And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,

Down which she so often has tripped with her pail;

And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,

The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,

The mist and the river, the hill and the shade:

The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,

And the colors have all passed away from her eyes!

With an expression far older and sadder than her ten years, Lucy replaced the poem and walked out of the room.

**Hopefully everyone caught that this poem is written by William Wordsworth. It's called "The Reverie of Poor Susan".**


	4. Kisses and Fists

"Five more minutes!"

Susan couldn't help but appreciate the perfect irony of the situation. Here she was, sitting in a classroom (which was far too stuffy), taking what might possibly be the most important test of her life. And she couldn't stop thinking about Narnia, seeing connections to it everywhere. Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on the final exam. The constant tapping of pens behind her was starting to wear thin on her nerves, especially as she had been listening to it all day. Briefly, she considered turning and asking the owner of the offending pen to stop. But that would probably bring Mrs. Clive over in an instant, and Susan would be thrown out of testing.

As if she could sense what Susan was considering, Mrs. Clive walked in her direction. Susan immediately looked down at the test, answering a question will extra zeal to show how hard she was thinking. Once Mrs. Clive turned away, she stared blankly at the paper again. She had finished over an hour ago, and was simply re-working the problems. I suppose that's a problem of getting old, then having to go back to your younger age, she mused. You have already done the work they teach you ten times over. She found it bitterly amusing that when she thought about all the disadvantages to going back to the age of 17, the one that annoyed her the most was having to re-learn things she knew long ago. Perhaps that wasn't the most frustrating. Perhaps it was leaving friends she had made, friends she had always assumed she would live with her entire life. And then returning, not a year later, to find them long dead and gone, the stuff of legends in her perfect fairy-tale world run sour. Yes, perhaps that was the worst. Or perhaps it was leaving things that might have been, never knowing what they would be. Perhaps it was the waiting to come back, before remembering with a jolt that she never could. But maybe, just maybe, the worst was not knowing what happened to the people she known on her last visit. Had a year passed, a hundred, a thousand? Were they dead or alive and well? On the last time Edmund had visited, he had reported back that in Narnia, almost two years had passed. But since then? Who knew?

A giggle, a slight cough awoke her to the fact that she was daydreaming again. Mrs. Clive stood in front of her, holding out a hand for her test. Had it really been five minutes? It must have been. She put her test in the teacher's outstretched hand. As one, the class rose to get out of the classroom. Susan left as well, hoping to find Lucy before she got out of her first year's exams.

"Susan Pevensie."

She turned to see Mrs. Clive sitting at her desk, motioning her to advance. Perplexed, she did as she was told. It seemed strange that Mrs. Clive would call her to task for daydreaming during an exam after she had finished.

Mrs. Clive motioned for her to sit. She took off her glasses and polished them. For a long moment, Susan and her locked eyes. Finally, Mrs. Clive spoke. "Susan, this year you have excelled in your work, as always. You know that your mother and I talked about you moving up a year." Susan nodded mutely. What was she getting at? "And as you know, we now have a two week break before starting the new term." Susan nodded again, but inside she was seething. Somewhere, she had developed a deep dislike of people who couldn't just say what they meant. It appeared that Mrs. Clive was one of those people.

"Susan, I believe you ought to consider a career outside of school. Heaven know we are glad to have you, but your studies have reached the level where it is no longer beneficial to stay in this school." She smiled thinly. "I don't say this of many students, but you are ready to move on. Though, of course, if you choose to stay you will be welcomed. But I would strongly advise that you search for work on this break."

Susan looked up from her lap, where she had been intently looking since Mrs. Clive had begun to talk about her leaving. "I understand, Mrs. Clive. Well, I probably won't see you again. So thank you." She held out her hand, and Mrs. Clive shook it.

"Thank you, Susan." With those words echoing her ears, Susan left the classroom without a backwards glance. If there was one thing Narnia had taught her, it was how to walk away without crying, never looking back. She had been wrong, earlier, she thought. The worst thing about returning was knowing that she didn't fit in, wasn't right here, that she had no safe haven. Now, her boarding school, her last familiar home, was all but kicking her out. She wanted nothing more than to put her head in her hands and bawl. But instead, she held her head high and continued out the door, into the sunlight. But she felt strangely cold.

Edmund was staring moodily at the ground. Final exams, he decided, had been made entirely for the purpose of boring him to tears. He had never seen the point in testing proficiency by lumping together random facts and asking him to memorize them. Last year, he'd made the mistake of telling his teacher this, as well as presenting him with a long essay on the subject. He had very nearly been banned from taking the final exams at all, thus failing the entire year. It had taken all the pleading, cajoling, and promising never to do it again that the entire Pevensie family could muster to convince the headmaster that Ed was simply trying out a new writing system, and had wanted to write about something he didn't believe was true because it was challenging. He had passed the exams with high marks, but that hadn't helped when school reports were sent home. He shuddered to remember them. His chemistry teacher had been particularly vicious in his commentary. He had been careful not to repeat his "inflammatory" behavior.

So Edmund stood in the school common, watching people go by. He was waiting for Peter to hurry up and finish, so that they could both go visit their sisters. Lucy had her first final exams today. Edmund was positive she would do well; after all, he'd passed them even before they had visited Narnia. There were not very many people in the common. Richard Bevel, a 5th form student, was sitting reading a book. A gaggle of younger students, probably fresh out of their exams, were going over notes at a rapid pace and groaning as they realized they had misread a question or memorized an incorrect formula. Edmund smiled slightly.

From the far end of the common, there was a sudden commotion as a flock of birds took flight. When it was possible to see (after the birds finished moving), Edmund saw a group of boys coming across the common. He recognized them. It was a bully's group; truly, most of the boys in it were big and slightly unintelligent. Edmund was reminded of a group of apes; in which comparison the bullies did not fare too well. The exception was their leader, James Block. He was quite tall, with shaggy blond hair and grey eyes that half the girls as Susan's boarding school had swooned over. His eyes impressed Edmund no more than his false, swaggering bravado attitude. Edmund has seen real power, and he knew the ones to fear were not people who acted as if they were important. Comparing this boy to Peter and him in the golden days was like comparing a diamond to dung. He half smiled to his metaphor. He had seen eyes that made the bravest man tremble, that were soft and caring, that were hard and cold and unfeeling. Even his own slightly hypnotic stare was more impressive than James' colorless grey eyes.

So Edmund did not fear James Block and his gang of cronies. In fact, on any other day he probably would have completely ignored them. But Edmund had been waiting for Peter for some time. He was bored, and James was the most interesting thing he'd seen in almost a half hour. He strained his ears to hear their conversation.

"-want to be careful, James." That was Michael Welsh, a student who, it was rumored, had failed this year twice. But James being careful? That was strange. Edmund tried to hear more.

"You don't want that mad Pevensie coming after you."

"Scary, he is." Edmund didn't know the two boys who spoke next. He was intrigued to find his name come into it, though. The conversation suddenly became far more interesting.

"You worry too much. I'll deal with it." That was James, Edmund knew. He and his group were practically beside Edmund now. James looked up, saw him, and sneered. "Look, boys, vermin on the school property."

"I thought that wasn't allowed."

"Someone should call a rat-catcher."

"No need for that, we can deal with him ourselves."

Edmund smiled blandly at them all. Since his return from Narnia, when he had gone through a growth spurt leaving him significantly taller than most of his class, James had christened him "the rat" or occasionally, "vermin". It was perfectly safe to do so, as Edmund was tall, gangly, and mostly friendless. Edmund knew perfectly well that if there was any chance of him actually being a danger to James, he never would have dared. But since Edmund did not appear dangerous (or at least, he was only one boy), James had dared. The name had stuck. The few friends Edmund had were also christened "rats". By contrast, James and his friends called themselves the rat-catchers. Numerous spontaneous fights erupted between the two groups. As a rule, James and his friends always won, mostly because Edmund didn't fight back very often. This was because if he did, word got around to Susan. And Edmund would rather face an army of Telmarines than Susan after she discovered he'd been fighting, _again_.

So when Edmund saw the first punch coming, he decided to take it. Not that he couldn't see it coming (he could), but fighting back would make Susan upset. By upset, he meant mad enough to tear out his hair and pour horrible-smelling, terribly stingy liquid all over any bruises that he might have earned. Sometimes he wondered who had given her the title of "Gentle"—surely not anyone who had been on the other end of her ministrations. Besides, the punch was easy enough to roll with. Edmund hit the ground with a thunk and lay there. It appeared to be his lucky day- James and his cronies walked off, laughing. Edmund waited until they were gone, then stood up, dusting off his uniform as he did so.

With a ring of the bell, the entire 6th form was let out. Most of them walked in two's or three's, going over the exam again, discussing their answers to question 26 part c. Edmund looked around for Peter. Off to one side, Peter was talking to a younger student. Edmund watched with growing apprehension as Peter's lips tightened, he nodded to the boy and jumped to his feet, walking quickly. Edmund jogged after him.

"Pete, what's going on?"

Peter's hands were balled completely into fists. He was practically spitting, he was so angry. He glanced over at Edmund, barely registering his question. "Not now, Ed!"

Edmund was rather annoyed that Peter was being so reclusive, but decided that pestering him probably wouldn't help. Instead, he took the longer path to the girl's school. As he walked, he thought about what James had been talking about. He had been heading the same way as Peter was now going, towards the girls' school. Probably just talking about going out with some girl, he decided. James was considered something of a lady's man in that school, jumping from girl to girl. Still, Edmund wondered if he's misheard about the "crazy Pevensie". James and his ilk weren't afraid of Edmund; they were hardly likely to call him crazy, or anything to be scared of. But that would mean they hadn't been talking about him. Who, then, would they be afraid of? The answer came quickly to him. Peter, of course. But why would Peter be attacking them? Edmund had long since warned Peter to stay out of his fights. That meant that this wasn't Edmund's fight, but he couldn't think what else Peter would be fighting James for.

Then Edmund stopped, stood stalk-still on the path. Of course, he thought, hitting himself in the head. Of course. James had been heading to the girls' school, obviously with plans to date, or kiss, some unfortunate girl. Edmund himself had heard his friends warning him to be wary of the "crazy Pevensie". That was Peter. The only reason that James would have to be wary of Peter was if he was going to do something at the girls' school that Peter would get angry about. The only thing Peter would get angry about James doing something would be if it involved his family. More specifically, if it involved Susan. And James was going into that schoolyard to kiss someone, someone he was afraid Peter would be mad about if he heard of it. But Peter had heard of it. Edmund had seen the younger boy tell him, seen Peter's reaction, watched him walk hurriedly to the school…

And then Edmund was running, really running, retracing his footsteps back to the school. He tore through the common, heading straight to his sister's school, James Block, Peter and, unless he was very much mistaken, disaster immanent.

Susan was sitting on a bench in her school common. Lucy was beside her, chattering about how much easier the test was than she had expected. Susan was making a conscious effort to listen. It was just hard to hear Lucy talk about normal things when she had just been practically ordered out of boarding school. She continued to tell herself she didn't mind, that she wanted to go. It was a blatant lie. Susan liked boarding school. She saw her sister daily and her brothers frequently.

Speaking of which, Susan looked around. Where were those brothers of hers, anyway? "Lucy? Do you see the boys anywhere?"

Lucy looked around. There were plenty of boys in the schoolyard by now, but she didn't see her brothers. "Is that them, over by the back?" she asked. "I'll go check."

"Lucy, that's not-" Susan sighed as her words fell off deaf ears. Lucy had already gotten up to go check. She pulled a textbook out of her satchel. There was no point in reading up for her next test, since it wasn't until after the break. The break during which she was supposed to find employment. She sighed again. Well, there was nothing else to do. She continued to read the book, searching for any information she was likely to forget.

A hand reached down and swatted the book closed. Susan blinked for a moment, then looked up. A boy was standing there, smirking. Behind him were a group of other boys about his age, of whom he was clearly the leader. He wore the same uniform as her brothers. Without even dignifying him with a response, she opened the book to another page and continued to read.

"Susan Pevensie." She looked up at him again; mildly surprised he knew her name. But she didn't feel like being polite, besides, the smile and the way he acted proved him to be no gentleman.

"Do I know you?"

He put his face much closer to hers than she liked. She could smell his breath, which was mildly disgusting. "I would like to know you much better."

At last, she remembered. He was James Block. Several of the more foolish girls she knew had been absolutely swooning over him the last few months. She never understood what they saw in him- a boy who picked fights in back hallways, who had others beat up anyone who got in his way. He had a certain amount of charm, yes. But he was as slithery as an eel, and to be trusted about as far as one.

She stood up, forcing him to move as well. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Goodbye." She hoped, at least, that her stunning exit line didn't sound too foolish. But Susan was rather sick of letting disgusting boys know she wasn't interested.

His hand grabbed her arm, turned her around to face him. "I think it is." Before Susan could say another word, his arm grabbed her head and he kissed her hard on the mouth.

Peter was walking up the path quickly, resolutely. He'd lost sight of James not a full minute ago, but was already feeling nervous. Rounding the bend into the commons, he caught sight of him again. He was kissing Susan.

Peter's blood boiled. He was about to start forward, but stopped himself. He remembered Susan's anger when he had made assumptions about her before. Maybe she wanted to kiss him. By force of will, Peter stood still. Once they broke out of the kiss, he would see Susan's reaction. If she didn't want him to kiss her… Peter would remedy the fact that he had. Violently.

Edmund was winded, having run the entire way to the school at a desperate, mad sprint. He stood by the entrance to the common, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He'd never been much of a runner, and running so fast, for so long, was not fun.

From where he stood, he could see both Susan and James, as well as Peter. Peter looked about ready to throw a temper tantrum. He couldn't see Susan's face, couldn't tell what she was thinking.

Susan broke out of the kiss. She was surprised, shocked, and somewhat disgusted. That didn't even begin to describe her emotions. How dare he! How dare he kiss someone who was so obviously not interested! But in a strange, ironic sort of way, she was glad he had.

Ever since her kiss with Caspian, Susan hadn't been able to get it out of her mind. She had assumed it was because or him, not the kiss. But lately, she'd been wondering if it hadn't just been that it was a kiss. After all, it was her first kiss. Maybe that was why she'd been remembering it.

So she'd wanted to try and kiss someone else, to see if that was really it. But of course, Susan didn't want to kiss anyone else because she had like Caspian so much. Then, suddenly, this boy came and took away the decision. She supposed she ought to be somewhat grateful.

Because she knew, now. She knew it wasn't just the kiss. It had been him, and she did care. Probably far more than was healthy for someone living in a completely different world. She cared about him, she missed him, and she had kissed him because of this. She did not, ever, want to kiss anyone else. Especially James Block, which left her with a problem. She turned to face him. He was smirking back at her. Susan raised her hand as if to touch his face.

Edmund winced in pain for James as he watched his older sister slap him, hard, across the face. That's going to leave a mark, he thought. She slapped him again. Or several. He grinned in appreciation of his sister. She not only knew how to judge a person well, she could slap very nicely.

A movement caught his eye. It was Peter, running from where he had been standing. Apparently, Susan's slap had been a sign to him that Susan didn't want the guy to kiss her. This was true. But of course, Peter had interpreted it as his ok to go attack James.

What a pity it was that Edmund was out of breath. He might, feeling truly full of air, run after his brother and saved James a beating.

Hmm. What a pity. Edmund leaned back against the wall, hearing the yells of Peter and James, and the screams of the other girls gathering around, and the chanting noise of a crowd. If he hadn't been knocked to the ground, perhaps he would have felt energetic enough to go pull Peter off James.

No one could deny justice occasionally had a cruel streak.

Edmund eventually sauntered over after Peter. Getting into a fight, on this school, was not really a good idea.

By the time he reached Peter, there was quite a crowd gathered around the scene. Though there couldn't really be called any contest between Peter and James, it was more like Peter beating James. Edmund steeled himself to get injured as he jumped into the mass of flailing limbs.

He landed on Peter's back. Peter, as he expected, thought he was one of James' friends and tried to throw him off. Edmund had been expecting it; he rolled to one side and managed to shout in Peter's ear. "It's me, you maniac! Do you want to get expelled?" Peter paused for a moment. Edmund used it to his advantage. "If you get expelled, do you really think for one second that Mum won't take Lucy to America?" Edmund had no time to tell what Peter's reaction was, because at that moment he was knocked in the eye by James, who was trying to run away. Seeing stars, Edmund lost track of the fight for a moment.

When he could see clearly, it appeared to be over. James was lying in the dirt, Peter offering Edmund a hand up. He took it. James stood up shakily.

Peter's voice was low and intense. "You should thank Edmund here for saving your sorry skin." Then he turned away. Nothing more needed to be said. It was understood that if James ever even so much as looked at Susan, what had just happened would be repeated tenfold.

Edmund stared at James, realizing with a jolt that he was taller than him. "I didn't do it for you," he said, annoyed. He pushed James down again and followed his brother.

"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable!" Susan's rant filled the night air. It was evening, but she hadn't had a chance to speak with her brothers until then. They had been required to talk to the headmaster and headmistress, then to the school nurse, who had given them each an ice pack. Now, Edmund, Peter, and Lucy were all in Susan's cramped chamber. Susan was dealing with Edmund's black eye, which had swollen shut.

"Really?" Edmund asked innocently. "I didn't think it was very impressive. I've seen Peter fight much better."

"I'm not talking about that," Susan snapped, pulling out a bottle of some grayish paste and dabbing it on his eye with extra force. "I'm talking about your need to find any excuse for a fight. It must stop!"

Peter hadn't said much. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voiced strained.

Susan looked at him, and some of the anger disappeared from her face. "No, Peter. I was handling it."

"You shouldn't have to," he cried. "For heaven's sake, Susan, he shouldn't have kissed you if you didn't want him to! I was merely dealing with the situation so that you wouldn't have to deal with it again."

Susan wrapped a bandage around Edmund hand with extra force, so tightly that he cried out. "And what, Peter Pevensie," she asked, "if I wanted him to kiss me?"

"That's why I waited until after you slapped him to fight," Peter responded.

"Exactly!" Susan cried ("Ow!" yelled Edmund, the bandage now tightened painfully). "Did you hear yourself? **After** I slapped him! I slapped him! That was enough!"

"I've got an idea," Edmund said. "How about Peter says he's sorry, and you stop using my hand to relieve stress by tying the bandages as tight as is possible?"

Susan looked down at the hand she'd been bandaging; noticing for the first time that it had all the circulation cut off. "Sorry, Ed."

Peter sighed, rubbing his head with his free hand. "Sorry, Susan." She nodded curtly, not entirely forgiving. She motioned for Lucy to grab some of her medicines.

"Now, dear brother," she said, with a slightly evil grin, "it's time to get those cleaned up."

Peter looked at Edmund. Edmund looked at Peter. Then they both bolted for the door.

Susan couldn't help but laugh at their retreating figures. Both Edmund and Peter had a deathly fear of actually cleaning and treating the scrapes that they got during fighting. Regardless, she knew they would come to her in a few days, asking that she clean up the wounds because they were sore, or infected. It always happened.

Lucy left the room after a little while as well. It was obvious that Susan didn't want to talk tonight. Instead, she sat on the bed, staring at the stars out a small window.

Perhaps it's nothing, she thought. But at least now I know I care. And maybe, maybe, maybe I can move on now. Maybe knowing that I care, but will never go back, will allow me to find peace. Maybe.

Susan had no way of knowing the opposite would happen. For that night, the dreams began.


	5. The Dream

**AN: ARG! I'm so sorry for taking forever to get this up! I keep leaving (as you have probably noticed), and there keeps being no computers... You get the idea. Anyway, here is the chapter. Politics has always been really interesting to me, and I enjoy being able to write about the situation in Narnia. **

**To everyone who has reviewed/read: You guys are amazing. You deserve gold medals and lots of other fun stuff for putting up with late chapters and long waits. Thank you, thank you, thank you. As you can tell, I'm back now, and that means chapters (I hope)!**

**For Istalri- this one was all your idea.**

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The dream (for it could only be a dream) started as soon as Susan's head touched the worn pillow. She didn't toss and turn in bed, trying to find a peaceful moment. She slept a sleep which was deep, rich, and refreshing. But Susan would not know this until she woke up, feeling refreshed.

It wasn't like a normal dream, not in any sense of the word. Susan found herself floating, like a petal on a breeze, down to a field of warm grass. She could practically _feel_ the warmth of the sun, the cool tickling of grass beneath her feet as she walked. She could imagine herself to smell the distant seashore, the fresh grass, the early morning rain. But the field did not only smell as what could be seen. It smelled like every good thing in the world, fresh baked bread, exotic flowers Susan had never smelled but instinctively knew, meat cooking such as she had not had since the war. The air felt like soft sheets and cool silks on her skin, a feeling as pleasant as it was unfamiliar.

But all of this was nothing compared to what she could see. She saw the beautiful, open field. It was alight with color and beauty, as though it just couldn't bear to be dull or average for a moment. Each color had a little something more- the red was a little redder, the blue a little brighter, the green more deep and all were more vibrant than any colors Susan had ever seen. She would not dare to even imagine that such colors existed.

A mist, which she had not noticed before, clouded her vision. Silvery and yet every color under the sky, it shrouded the edge of the field from her view. She was suddenly determined to see the end of the field.

As if the mist knew her thoughts, it parted, and Susan saw what had lain just beyond her vision. It was Aslan's How, the structure she had seen and fought from in her last visit to Narnia. It was repaired as if it had never been attacked, looking as it had the first time she had seen it. And there, on the battlement, was a figure. Susan was too far too make out who, or what, it was.

Well, go and see, part of her mind urged her. She shook off the thought. I don't know who's up there, or whose side they are on. It's better to stay here in this sweet, beautiful meadow.

Don't be ridiculous, her mind snapped. This is a dream. Can't you leave your cynicism behind for a few hours? Nothing bad ever happens in dreams. What's the worst that could happen?

Whoever it is could shoot me with a bow, Susan responded. And this isn't really a normal dream, anyway. I mean, you're not supposed to remember what happened to you during the day, and think about it, in a dream. And I think things through. That's _logic_, not cynicism.

Oh really, the snide voice (who by now Susan quite disliked) said. How logical is it to be arguing with yourself about what you should do in a dream?

Susan thought about that for a moment. She did argue with herself, but only because she viewed all viewpoints before deciding on something. But this time, her more confident self was right. It wasn't logical at all to argue with yourself in a dream. You shouldn't even be able to do that in a dream.

Besides, it was Aslan's How. Even if she was only dreaming, the place held some sacred sort of tryst for her. Nothing bad could ever happen there, or so it seemed.

The snide voice was suddenly back. What about Aslan and what the White Witch did to him there? What about the attack by Miraz? What about the boulders that-

Shut up, Susan told herself. She walked across the meadow with resolve. As she walked, the trees behind her grew suddenly more beautiful and their blossoms burst into spring.

--

King Caspian the Tenth, the great ruler of Narnia and Telmar, the monarch hailed as the great peacemaker … was hiding from his council of elders in the great library. It was nothing personal, he tried to justify. He just needed time to think. Time and space.

When he had taken the oath of kingship, he had sworn never to be the leader his uncle was. He had sworn to listen to his subjects, and be fair and honest. He had never regretted that decision and didn't intend to start now.

But the situation was so complicated. Though most Telmarines had decided to stay in Narnia, they refused to concede that Narnia belonged to the Narnians. To live with them, side by side, as he had ordered, was something they allowed with ill grace. There were a few good souls who accepted the Narnians. He had tried to reward them with lands or honors. But he had lately found that men he awarded for their complacency to his decree and kindness to the Narnians were generally lying through their teeth to him. Some openly boasted about receiving money which they used to continue their backwards, biased way.

When Caspian had found out, he hadn't thought about what to say. He had simply had the equivalent of a massive royal temper tantrum. The men had been required to give back the money or titles, as well as paying a fine which went to the wronged Narnians. But that had made the people more careful, not more honest.

The situation was out of control. And it just got worse.

At first he had tried sending diplomats. King Edmund had been explaining about diplomats from countries and negotiations and treaties to him when he had last seen the Just king. It was a conversation they had never had a chance to finish. He smiled briefly. Maybe he would ask Edmund about it the next time he saw him. The smile faded as he realized that he might never see King Edmund again, or Queen Lucy. He _knew_ he would never see the High King or the Gentle Queen again. The thought saddened him, and with an effort he brought his mind back to diplomats.

Every diplomat had different effects on different people. The noble mouse Reepicheep was likely to be listened to by women and children, but men distrusted his words. Caspian expected that this had something to do with his "cute" factor, but daren't mention it to the mouse. Glenstorm was trusted by military leaders and respected among his own people. But beyond the army, he scared the common people. His Telmarine diplomats were no better. Most Narnians distrusted Telmarines who were too authoritative, but any weakness was viewed as an insult as they found it impossible to believe a people who were weak could have almost wiped out their race. Any talking animal was automatically distrusted by the Telmarines, and the dwarfs distrusted anyone and everyone.

The only real success he had made in uniting the two races was with children. Telmarine children and Narnian children played together without fear and malice. That is, they did until their parents found out, and sowed seeds of mistrust and doubt in their minds. Then the older children moved away from their old playmates, and started to hate them. Teaching children to hate. He shook his head in disgust. It was such a horrible idea.

Then, the final blow had fallen. Caspian had never been one for social niceties, but they were a huge part of Telmarine life. Balls and parties where jealousy and mistrust were predominant, and where poison words of gossip were spread around the room. Being able to waltz while discussing policy and flirting with pretty ladies was practically a requirement for a king. He had been trained to speak beautiful words that meant nothing at all from the time he was born. He had always been groomed so that he would fit perfectly into a society where you must look nice, talk beautifully or give up any hope of being respected.

The Narnians didn't have that. They had been too busy trying to survive, and had learned the art of blending in with their surroundings. Those that used to dance for pleasure had died. The few that still survived from the golden ages, from the times of the Kings and Queens of Old, had learned wisdom and would not risk being discovered by dancing. The beautiful castle of Cair Paravel was gone, the dancing halls and great stained glass windows destroyed by Telmarine catapults.

And the Telmarines had much practice in the art of social snobbery. It had started simply, things Caspian had dismissed as the last vestiges of Telmarine bias. Certain sections (the best) of the capital had been reserved, by law, for 'accredited craftsmen'. A craftsman must have a license passed by the city council, and, of course, no council would give a license to a Narnian. Caspian could do nothing to go against the council, not take out the men who made decisions he didn't like and replace them. He had made sure that the members of the council were elected, and only the people could vote them out of office. That had been one of Edmund's ideas.

Caspian sat down heavily. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It still did. But it rendered him effectively powerless in town affairs. He was working on the idea of his council, the High Council, overriding city decisions. But the council was rarely moved.

Didn't they realize that this drove off the very Narnians he was trying to attract? The Narnians who would dare try and live in the capital, among so many Telmarines, were the people he needed to try and bring the country together. And his city, his own capital pushed that away!

The situation had been getting rapidly worse. Most of his best efforts had failed due to Telmarine and Narnian bias. The Telmarines were trying to drive the Narnians out of the cities by way of social prejudice. He didn't care if it was more socially acceptable than swords; it was still an attack on his people that he could not allow to continue. Some incidents had arisen between Narnians who didn't appreciate being moved and Telmarines determined to move them. Two months earlier, a faun named Bhatim was killed when his dwelling was set on fire. He had being trying to save it and got too close. Only a few weeks ago, his best Telmarine diplomat had been knifed in the back by a fellow Telmarine. It could not continue.

This was the point he had been trying to make to his council. They must do something; they were the city's order. His idea had been to abolish the laws regarding where and where not Narnians could live, as well as giving any Telmarine who acted on bias against the Narnians a black mark in the Book of Names.

The Book of Names was a giant record of every Telmarine that ever was. The greatest disgrace a Telmarine could be given was to be erased from the Book of Names. It was the equivalent of saying the person had never existed, was never a Telmarine. Caspian had stopped that practice. His council had wanted to destroy all records of Miraz, Sopespian, Glozelle, everyone who fought on that side. But when records were gone, there was no memory of the horror. And without the memory, it might happen again. So Caspian had established the new tradition of marks. Everyone who had fought under Miraz and refused to accept Caspian as the ruler received a black mark. It said that the person was no better than a traitor, that but for the king's mercy would have been killed. It said the person was a disgrace to Telmar, to his or her land and people. It went without saying that anyone with a black mark would never be fully accepted in Telmar. It was a serious thing. And Caspian wanted to give it to anyone who committed an offense against the Narnians.

His council had been less than willing to accept the idea. In fact, they had been rather voiced in their complaints. Eventually, he had got them to accept the idea of establishing a High Council check on the city councils. Now they just had to agree with his idea of actually giving the Narnians the same rights as Telmarines.

Caspian couldn't help but think that other rulers must have had a much easier time of it than he did. King Lune of Archenland once said that "kingship was eating the worst food and smiling as though it was the best, staying up all night to work and waking before the rest of the world". It was true. But, Caspian couldn't help but remember, King Lune had the Kings and Queens of old to help him. Caspian had the few Narnians that trusted him, the few Telmarines that trusted him and faithful Doctor Cornelius. There was hardly a comparison.

He knew that his lack of trust in himself was holding him back. But what else could he think, in the situation he now found himself in? He didn't want to think about it any more. Desperate to find some relief, he walked to the bed and climbed in. Perhaps he could forget his worries while he slept, at least for a little while.

He dreamt of himself, through the hazy mist that was so familiar to him. As always, his dreams took him to Aslan's How, the giant structure under which the Stone Table lay. There he sat and stared out over the surrounding glade and forest. The cool mist and calm sky brought peace to his mind. But as he knew from previous experience, the feeling faded as soon as he woke.

To try and get his mind off the murky politics of his kingdom, he walked the battlements of the How. They were solid, sturdy, unmovable. They surely were not so stable in reality; in fact, most of the stone supports had been destroyed in the last attack on the How. The battle which should have decided the fate of his country, but had instead heaped the reconstruction onto him. He had been hoping, at least, that the Kings and Queens could help bring peace and unity. But they had left. He was alone. He was the only one who could rebuild the nation. He was…

Rounding the bend in the wall and running straight into another person. That was strange; he'd never known anyone else to be here. The king in him took over; he got up, apologizing and offering a hand to the person he'd run into. A lady…

Then the hand dropped from sheer shock. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Standing in front of him, with an expression he could not fathom, was Susan Pevensie.

--

It had taken Susan no time at all to walk across the How. It had been a pleasant walk, seeing everything that she remembered from Narnia. But everything had been... more, somehow. A little brighter, a little finer, a little _more_. She had been marveling at the view from the battlements, turning the corner to see the rest of the view. The great river, she believed, could be seen from a little farther over. Also, the figure she'd seen had been over there.

And then she'd run straight into him. And he took her breath away.

He was just so… real. He looked real. He felt (as she knew from being knocked over) solid. She could see his chest rising and falling with each breath. In… out. In… out. He was there. He _was_. But it was a dream.

But it's a good dream, she whispered to herself. One I want to believe in. Maybe… maybe I can talk to him. Maybe, if it's a dream, he'll respond how I think he would. She was still staring at Caspian. He looked a little shocked.

… Alright, she had to admit. He looked very shocked. But she couldn't imagine she looked much different. She'd better say something. Obviously, he was unable to.

--

"Hello." Her voice was music to his ears. A symphony of instruments was nothing compared to the single word in her voice.

He ought to say something. She was waiting for him to say something. "Hello." He shifted uncomfortably. What else could he say? I love you? I dream about you every night, and I think this is just another dream? "Are you… Are you well?"

Her voice sounded rushed, flustered, the answer came too fast. "Yes, yes, I'm well." She sounded exactly the same as she had the first time he'd spoken with her. Of course, the situation had been somewhat complicated by the fact she'd been holding an arrow to his throat. He lost himself in the blissful memory.

Her voice sounded again. It sounded small, uncertain. Trusting him. "Is this a dream?"

He was ecstatic just to be in her presence. Did it matter? "Does it matter?"

Her eyes opened wide, and she was suddenly reserved. "Does it?" She was turning the question back on him, something he had done to his advisers many times. He only now realized how intensely frustrating it was.

But at the same time, it made him think. "Not to me. I'm just glad to be around you."

She smiled, and it was as if the sun had suddenly come back. Caspian's heart was jumping wildly. "Nor to me. But," she warned, "I do not think I can stay."

He had expected it, but it still crushed his heart. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, never taking his eyes off her face. "Then I will not ask."

Her face twisted into something resembling pain. It was a shadow on her beautiful face. But the next moment it was gone. "How are things in Narnia?"

She must have seen his face, understood his expression. "Oh no. Caspian, what's happening?" He looked away. She marched up to him, thrusting her face next to his. Normally, he would have enjoyed this. But he could not now. "Tell me what's happening to Narnia!"

He had no choice but to fill her in. He didn't know how long he talked about politics and ruling and Narnia. Hours, probably. Many hours. She was mostly silent, offering only the occasional question to his monologue. At last, she spoke. Her words were advice.

"You have to make a declaration. Declare that a state of great distress is upon Narnia. You must take action, explain that to the people. Use examples, sympathetic figures that the people relate to. You must make them understand, Caspian. It is the only way. Use a mark in the Book of Names if you must, but not a black mark. It is too severe," she added, seeing his face. "It makes you look like a tyrant. And in Aslan's name, make the declaration soon."

He was staring at her. He knew it, and he couldn't help it. She smiled, a little half-smile he had missed so badly. "Did you think I had my head in the clouds when I reigned? I know how hard it is. But you will do it. You must."

She rose, and he did too. "Now I must go." He wanted to stop her, to ask her to stay. How did she know it was time to go? But he remembered the promise he had made and was silent. He felt the pull that told him he must wake up soon, and remembered with a start that this was only a dream.

"I am sorry I did not have better news for you." His own voice sounded strange to him.

She reached out her hand and touched his face. "It is enough," she said quietly. She looked as though she would say more. But then she turned and walked away, into the misty clearing.

He did not see her disappear, but was suddenly sure that she was gone. He looked at the clearing one more time. Then he turned, and let the mist swallow him.

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**A Suspian moment (yes, it's been too long, I know)! Please leave a review.  
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	6. Waking Up

**A/N: Ok, so it's finally up. **

**Everyone who has reviewed and read this story has my gratitude forever. I love that people won't give up on this story. Don't, because there is more coming. I'm not going to back out of this story, even if it takes me a full year to finish. I've hit on a small snag called writer's block- so don't be surprised if the next chapter is a while in coming. Thanks again for reading.**

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Lucy hadn't intended to wake Susan up when she entered her room, of that Susan was certain. But Susan had never been a very deep sleeper, not since… well, best not to think of that.

And how, pray tell, was she _not_ to think about it? She had just had a dream, the most ridiculously wonderful dream she could have ever imagined. He had been there. He was there. And it was like she'd never left. They talked, for hours… and somehow it hadn't mattered that he was getting married, or that it had been a year. It had just been a comfortable talk; none of the awkwardness that she was sure would have accompanied such a talk in reality.

Which, of course, told her the truth: It hadn't been real. It had been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. She'd been asleep, hadn't she? But how could it be a dream when everything seemed so real?

"Susan?" Lucy's voice was quite, afraid to wake her. "Susan, are you awake?"

Susan learned long ago that if Lucy wanted to wake her, she would. It was no good pretending that she was still asleep. And even if she was asleep, Lucy would wake her up. She remembered one time in particular when Lucy had bounced on the edge of the bed for something accumulating to three quarters of an hour to wake her up. But then, it had been Peter's birthday.

"Are you awake?" Lucy's voice was a little louder now. Susan turned over to see sunlight streaming through her windows.

Wait. Sunlight?

"Lucy, what time is it?" Her voice didn't sound scratchy, as she had expected it to after talking all night long. But she hadn't talked at all during the night. It was a dream.

"It's a quarter to ten." Lucy was smiling at her. "You don't normally sleep so late. Ed was all for dumping a tub of water on you, but me and Peter stopped him."

"Well, I'm very grateful to you for stopping him," Susan murmured as she hurriedly searched for her stockings. Where had she put them? It wasn't like there were very many places to lose something in a room this small…

"Peter helped too," Lucy insisted. She was always eager to make sure everyone's role was told fairly.

"Oh, Peter." Susan shrugged as she searched in the drawer for her hat. "I'm sure that he," She pulled the hat out of the drawer with an air of triumph. "He probably was encouraging Ed to make it ice water." She could see Lucy's smile, a smile that brightened the whole room. What she didn't know was that her own face radiated happiness, happiness Lucy rarely saw on Susan's face nowadays. Lucy couldn't help but wonder why it was there now. But she wouldn't ruin the moment by mentioning it.

"Lu, why were Ed and Peter up here anyway?" Susan was adjusting the hat on her head. She looked over at Lucy, who was looking at her in a way that said what a stupid question it was. Right. So the answer must be something obvious. Disaster? Didn't seem likely. She saw nothing out the window which was out of the ordinary. Family trouble? Possibly, but why would Lucy be smiling then? She knew all of her siblings' birthdays. She was pretty sure it wasn't a national holiday. They had no final exams.

Final exams… holiday… Of course! Today was the start of break in the term. All the Pevensies left for their mother's at the start of break. But today was different. Today, they would travel to Peter's new house for the week. A house none of them had ever seen. And on top of that, she'd overslept so they had missed the early morning train, which meant taking the late train which everyone took in the heat of the day.

Peter, who had entered as soon as he heard Susan talking to Lucy, was watching this play out on Susan's face. Her emotions had always been very easy to read, and it was like watching a drama in action to see her finally realize what today was, and to see her expression settle into one of… anger? Uh-oh.

"Peter Pevensie why on earth didn't you wake me? We're moving into a new house today, and all you can think about is letting me sleep? There's work to do!"

"Well, technically, there's not." His voice was bored, but it was just a cover. Nothing was worse than vengeful Susan in the morning (Unless perhaps it was a vengeful Susan just after he had woken her up from a nap. He had been pole-vaulting in the yard with a very flimsy pole and which gave out and caused him to land on top of Susan. He shuddered at the memory). "We're all packed; we're just waiting for you."

She uttered an inaudible scream to the heavens. "Just hold the suitcase while I pack it, will you?"

"Why can't I just put it on the bed?"

"Peter, I don't think it's too much to ask that—"

Lucy slipped out quietly and closed the door. She knew that they wouldn't argue for long, but she didn't want to have Susan's wrath directed at her. But what was funny was… Lucy got the feeling it had all been for show. Susan hadn't seemed angry, not really. She was putting on an act. Why? For Peter? Or because she, herself, hadn't realized it was an act? Couldn't she see the change?

"So you left the poor fellow to his fate." Lucy smiled at Edmund, who was standing beside her. She noticed with a start how much taller he was than her. It was a little unsettling. "You know, a true queen would not leave her brother in there." He jerked his head to Susan's room, where the sound of the argument between the two siblings was loud. Of course, Ed didn't offer to go in.

"I may be valiant, Edmund, but I'm not that brave." He chuckled briefly. Lucy thought for a moment, and then decided to ask Ed's opinion. "Edmund—"

He held up a hand. "No, I will not go into that room. Besides, they're almost done arguing." It was true; the argument had died down a little.

"No, Edmund. Listen to me. Something's different about Susan. She's… She's happier, I don't understand it. It's like she's a different person from who she was last night."

Edmund examined his fingernails. "She sounds like the same person to me."

Lucy started towards him, but stopped herself. Edmund really wanted to know more, she could tell by his supreme nonchalance. But he couldn't act like that in front of her. She would never understand boys. "Edmund." He smiled at her, all bland innocence. "If you don't listen to me, I swear by Aslan's mane that I will tell Susan about the last fight you got into and what it was about and the fact that the bruises haven't gone away yet." Just like that, she had his full attention. It was probably a little mean to hold his fights over his head, but honestly! Ed could just be so ridiculous sometimes. "What do you think?"

He looked at her. "It's obvious, isn't it? It's got to be something about _him_."

"Do you mean…" She was almost too shocked to speak. "Do you mean she went back to Narnia?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I can't explain it. It must be… she made peace with it or something. But then…" There was a long pause, in which Ed muttered under his breath and Lucy waited patiently. "Oh, I don't know! But it's got to have something to do with him."

"How do you know that?" Lucy was a bit miffed with his analysis of the situation.

"What has made Susan act so unlike herself? Why did she hit that boy when he kissed her? Why doesn't she care about boys anymore? Who does she miss so badly she cries herself to sleep about him?" Ed's face was angry, explosive. "Because of _him_. So she won't, or can't, find peace without him."

Somewhere in Lucy's mind, she stored away the fact that Edmund knew that Susan cried over losing Narnia. Susan, she knew, was always very careful not to seem weak or upset in front of any of her siblings. Especially Edmund and Peter… probably because they just ended up getting mad like Edmund was now.

"Ed, why don't you like Caspian?" Her words, spoken quietly, jolted him like an electric shock. It was an unspoken rule that _he_ was never spoken of by name. No one had said as much, but they all secretly worried about the effect it would have on Susan. Or at least, that's what Lucy had thought. But to Edmund, it seemed that he didn't say the name because he hated Caspian. Why?

Edmund was currently staring at the floor, looking as if he would never answer. But he would, Lucy knew. For though Edmund might tease her and joke and argue with her, he had never failed her when something was serious. He always trusted her to tell the truth, and when something was important, he always came through for her. He believed her no matter what anyone else, even his own eyes, told him. So she knew he would answer her question.

"Lucy." She looked him straight in the face. His eyes were tortured, burdened with too much knowledge of too many mistakes. "He broke her heart. He should never have kissed her, never have tried to have a relationship with her, never looked at her because he knew she couldn't stay! But instead he chose to be selfish and try so that he could be happy in the time they had. Now Susan's here, never going back. She'll always wonder about him. And nothing, nothing we can do will change that. Of course I don't like him."

An intelligent observer might have noticed that the Just King's eyes were over bright as he spoke. The powerful, hypnotic stare was somewhat dulled by the presence of unshed tears.

The door to Susan's room opened at that point, sparing Lucy from having to respond. She didn't know what she would have said, anyway. Edmund always made acute observations. But he let his personal feelings and prejudices cloud his judgment. He could twist anything so that what _he_ wanted to believe was true sounded true from the angle he put it on. And the worst part was that he didn't even realize it. So Lucy was glad not to have to answer Edmund, not yet.

Susan and Peter had emerged, Peter carrying a packed suitcase and Susan holding a satchel filled to the brim. Both bags had obviously been packed in a hurry, yet Lucy knew that the contents would be neatly folded as always. Susan was the neatest person she knew.

Susan herself was flushed and smiling. "Come on, Peter! Let's see this new house."

"I can't continue," Peter gasped, dramatizing the weight of the suitcase. "It's too heavy." He set the suitcase down and fell dramatically to the ground. "Carry on without me."

"Well, we certainly weren't planning on carrying you as well as the suitcase," Edmund said. "That would be just too heavy."

Peter's pride was affronted. "Just what are you implying about me there Ed?"

Edmund snickered, and picked up the suitcase with one hand (just to show he could). "Come on, lazybones!"

Peter accepted the hand Lucy offered up, and checked his watch. "The train leaves in about a quarter of an hour. We'd better get down to the station."

"A quarter of an hour?" Susan was upset again. "Peter, that's barely time to walk there and buy tickets! We've got to run, and quickly."

So run they did, down the hallways of boarding school. Secretly, Lucy had always wanted to run down the long corridor slamming the door on her way out, and now she could. She didn't even pause to take a look at the dormitory she had lived in for almost a year. Eyes straight ahead, she flew out the door.

--

Susan was quite looking forward to seeing this new home that Peter had bought. At the same time, she was nervous. It wasn't as though she truly enjoyed going into London, especially not these days. There was a constant threat of bombs and death immanent that made it rather hard to enjoy yourself. Harder than the bombs, though, was seeing the wreckage that London had become. Rubble from buildings occasionally littered the streets, and there were no city lights because of the blackouts. Everything was grey, dreary and getting worse. Necessities like food, gasoline, clothing and coal were rationed. The city, like her jacket, was patched and worn.

Still, coming to London was going away from boarding school. Susan was glad for that.

Peter obviously knew where he was going. He headed down a street, then across another one, all the while at a quick pace. Susan grew more and more apprehensive as she saw the neighborhood become less well upkept. Thankfully, Peter turned down a lane and entered in a little gate. He pulled a key out of his pocket and fiddled with the lock, all the while talking about how the house was not finished yet, and would be nicer later.

Finally, the door opened onto a stairwell. Susan trudged up it, pulling her suitcase behind her. Peter was fiddling with another lock. Eventually, the door opened.

The first thing that struck Susan was how bare it looked. There were basic furnishings, it was true. But the wooden floor was bare, and the walls were made of uncompromising wood as well. There were no paintings or wallpaper. The curtains were faded grey.

She turned to Peter. She was absolutely sure her disbelief was written all over her face.

"It'll look better in the morning, I promise," he said, shifting nervously. She simply nodded mutely.

Strangely enough, she wasn't angry at Peter for telling her that the house was better. After all, she should have known no house could be so nice in the middle of wartime. Peter had done the best he could. And for that, she was grateful.

She leaned over to Peter. "I know you did the best you could. Thank you."

He looked shocked. She could see his mind working, trying to figure out if she meant it. Then his face broke into a smile. "Thanks."

The rest of the evening went by fairly quickly. Susan would never admit it, but she was hurrying through the evening just so she could sleep. Sleep… and maybe dream. Please, she thought as she climbed into bed. Please.

* * *

**Coming next- Caspian's reaction to the dream and another dream. And possibly I-don't-know-what-else.**

**Please leave a review!**


	7. Advice

**A/N: K, so it's up. With regards to the last chapter, I wanted to show the siblings arguing as all siblings do. I also wanted to show that Edmund and Lucy, at least, still have things to learn in Narnia (hence the fact that they can go back). Ok, enough blabbering. Enjoy!**

**Note as of August 5th: This chapter seemed incomplete to me after rereading it. It has been edited and there are some changes.**

* * *

Caspian didn't remember leaving the mists far behind, just waking up. It was harder than he could have imagined to leave the dream behind him.

She had been there. She had been there! And he'd had to walk away.

Well, it was true that she had left first. But she'd sounded just like Susan, just like the woman he had adored. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't. It _was_ a dream, after all. Even in Narnia, dreams were simply dreams, your mind taking what you thought about subconsciously and making you live it. He thought about Susan constantly, albeit he dreamed of her constantly. It made sense.

But this dream had felt different. He couldn't describe exactly what it was. Perhaps it was that she had given him advice, talked to him? He didn't know. It was exactly what he thought Susan would have done, had she been there. But it had felt so natural, so real.

He groaned and buried his head in a pillow. As if life wasn't complicated enough!

"Sire?" It was Trufflehunter. Stifling the urge to remain in bed, he rose. Unfortunately, Trufflehunter had been hovering over his side at the bed. Caspian suddenly found himself in the face of the badger. Let me simply tell you here that if you have never been awakened by getting a face-full of furry badger, don't. Caspian was forced to retain from gagging, but it was a close thing. Badgers smell very unusual up close.

But, so close, he could see the worry that clouded Trufflehunter's features. That scared him. Trufflehunter was rarely worried, and never without good reason. It meant there had to be some other disaster. "What's happened?"

"The High Council is meeting to vote on the rulings about Narnians' rights." Yes. A disaster. Caspian threw himself out of bed, and dressed as quickly as was possible. He tried to push all thoughts of the dream out of his head. Later he would think about it. Not now. He didn't bother to ask Trufflehunter why the council had not summoned him. They would have been afraid that he would not go along with their decisions. He smiled grimly. They were right.

He marched into the council chamber, trying to live up to the trumpet which sounded that the king had arrived. He knew he didn't look kingly, his clothes and hair disheveled. But his furious expression more than made up for it. The council members all rose, looking for all the world like schoolboys caught in some prank. Only a few of them remained composed. He couldn't help but notice that it was only the Telmarine council here, but he had expected no less. The High Council was made up of the two smaller, individual councils: The Telmarine and the Narnian councils. Unsuprisingly, it was was only the Telamarines he saw here.

"Your Majesty," one of the men said. He kept his eyes carefully lowered. "We were just—"

"Enough," Caspian snapped. He knew he was breaking all the social niceties by not hearing the man out, and then outwitting him in some verbal battle. That was how his uncle would have done it. _But I am not my uncle_, he thought. And the social niceties of the Telmarines deserve to be broken. "When did it become acceptable to hold a meeting of the Telmarine Council without me?"

Sullen faces met his eyes. They were unrepentant, close-mouthed. They would not, or could not, see his side. "I wish to hear what you have been deciding on. From the beginning."

There was some nervous shifting in chairs. No one spoke. Finally, Breckinson rose to speak. Breckinson was one of the few who had remained calm when Caspian entered. He was never openly disregarding Caspian's requests, but turned them around to get things done the way _he _wanted. He was as oily as a snake, and Caspian didn't trust him.

His voice practically dripped honey. "Your Majesty, there's really no need. We will, of course, send you the meeting report and the decrees. But it is surely not necessary for us to retell you the entire meeting." He chuckled, and a few nervous laughs joined him.

Caspian's blood boiled. So he was to be treated as a small child, sent away while the older men decided things for him? No! He tried to smooth out his face. Think! How should he approach this? "No, Lord Breckinson, it is not." Breckinson smiled, thinking he'd won. "I declare that a state of emergency exists in Narnia. I am overriding the city council's decision to refuse housing in certain areas based on a tradesman's license. I am adding Narnians to every section of this city, and they will be treated well. Anyone who treats a Narnian as inferior will not only answer to me, they will receive an orange mark in the Book of Names." An orange mark, though not as severe as a black one, was not something to be desired. "And finally, I am declaring everything decided at this council today invalid, because there was no king present."

The majority of his council stared as if he'd gone mad. Breckinson, as always, remain composed. It was just a fancy of imagination, but Caspian imagined that Breckinson might pull back the door, smiling, and reveal Miraz. Miraz smiling at him as he always did, telling him that he was a fool, that he should allow the older men to make his decisions for him. Miraz, armed with a fine blade, smiling and competent, the ruler with poise and confidence that Caspian didn't have. And then Miraz, smiling, coming at him with a blade…

"Your Majesty? Your Majesty?" With a gasp, Caspian pulled himself out of the dream. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he was trembling. He had hoped that he had moved beyond that time. Apparently not. Damn it all.

He lurched out of the room, not hearing the calls that followed him. Most of the council left as well, nervous and worried about the future. A few stayed in the chamber, a small group of whom Breckinson was the obvious leader. One walked over and slammed the door.

The first man to speak was a short, stout lord. His voice was unusually high. "Do you think he was drunk?"

Another man snorted in contempt. "It's early morning. Of course not."

The first man stared back at him with watery eyes which seemed to ask what it's being morning had to do with anything. "Well, how d'you explain him going out all strange like that?"

Breckinson finally spoke, his clear voice stopping any bickering between the two. "He wasn't drunk," he mused. "But he did behave strangely. I do wonder what it was about." He shook off the thought with a wave of his hand. "Not important. We got a good look at the king's thoughts today, though. They show so clearly on his face."

The snorting man having a laugh. "Showing his youth is what he's doing. Now his uncle, he never would have allowed that much emotion on his face."

Breckinson smiled thinly. "No, he's not his uncle. His policy shows as much."

A deep voiced man who had not yet spoken posed the next question. "Yes, his policy. How do we change that?"

Breckinson thought for a moment. "As of yet, I don't know. We need to become the faithful councilors to his majesty. Persuade him to change his mind."

"And if that doesn't work?" The first man's high-pitched voice revealed his excitement.

Breckinson smiled. "There's always the sword."

--

Caspian had stormed out of the council chamber, hoping for all his life he looked like an irate (but confident and composed) royal. Obviously not. The faces of those he passed told him he must look something like the walking dead. Those following him obviously thought the same. He didn't turn around, but he had a fairly good idea of who was following him.

His head came up. He could not afford to look weak. "Trufflehunter." The badger hurried forward, concern (if a badger could show such emotion) written on his face. "I need you to gather the Narnian council, quickly, in my chamber. The badger bowed and hurried off.

"My Lord Sophel." A stout lord approached, bowing as he did so. Sophel was one of the few lords who tolerated, (though had no excess of love for) the Narnians. He had been ashamed by the scene in the council chamber, but also embarrassed that Caspian so blatantly disregarded tradition and, in his mind, manners. It was plainly written on his face.

"My liege." Sophel did an elegant formal bow, one meant for receiving a king. The bow (called _la bellezza_, or _the beauty_) was one of many ways Miraz had insisted his couriers pay court to him. Caspian had rendered it effectively useless, never demanding it, often discouraging it. But he made no comment now. He needed to win Sophel over.

Sophel made things easier. "My liege, I must beg Your Majesty's forgiveness for the High Council. We have committed a great transgression in meeting without Your Majesty's presence." He paused theatrically, probably holding his breath. Would he be forgiven?

Caspian nodded in an attempt to look regal. "My Lord, the council today has made a great error in assuming I would not need be concerned in the fate of all my people. I am fully aware that this evil assumption must have been a plot of only certain parties within my council. I assure you they, and only they, will suffer punishment for this scheme." There, hat hadn't been too bad.

"My liege, I must again crave your pardon for my own involvement in this. I did nothing to stop the council meeting and deciding, but nothing to encourage it either." Sophel's brow was covered in sweat, though the day was fairly cool. He is a braver man than I thought, Caspian realized. He is willing to admit his own faults before the king, not knowing how the king would react. If I were Miraz, he would be dead for admitting any compliance. He saw the beads of sweat. And he knows it, too.

"Lord Sophel, there is no fault to forgive. _Pensare ancora non su esso_." The language, as well as the wording, was old. Rarely was it used any more. In the library, no doubt, there were still books on the dead language. It had been found, written in Narnian books during the First Telmarine invasion, at the sacking of Cair Paravel. An entire language, cataloged with whatever pronunciation was needed. Words, formal phrases, poems... the book had been a master find. But the language had become obsolete. Few even knew of it's origin.

Lord Sophel bowed again, plainly honored. "Now, my lord, I must ask a request of you."

Sophel stood proudly. "Anything, Your Majesty."

The overwhelming pomp and fuss with which everything was done was irritating Caspian. He tried not to show it. "I need what my Lord Breckinson offered. The decrees, the meeting report, the scribe's papers. Everything recorded of the meeting." Sophel nodded. "Bring it to my chamber."

With a final bow, Sophel hurried off. Their brief conversation had left him drained. He began to think almost longingly of sleep, dreaming... It took more effort than he would care to admit to bring his mind back to the present. How could he be so tired? He had just woken up, but felt drained. It was as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

Throwing all such thoughts out of his mind, he returned to his chamber. It was very likely that Trufflehunter would return with the Narnian council within minutes. Perhaps, before this story continues, I should explain to you about the chamber of the Telmarine king. As a general rule, chamber refers to bedchamber. But the king's chamber has a separate bedchamber, as well as a private room for meeting with individuals. It was going to be a squeeze to fit the entire Narnian council into said room, but Caspian didn't entirely trust that other rooms would not have eavesdroppers.

And for the Narnians, at least, he had to look regal. Not the way he would have dressed up for pomp and ceremony, no. But many Narnians had given their lives to see him on the throne. They deserved better than a boy in bedclothes. They deserved a king. He dressed quickly, barely noting what he wore. He pulled on the brown velvet doublet with more than necessary force, then hurriedly washed his face and hands. No sooner had he finished than Trufflehunter entered. In his claws, he held what Caspian assumed were the papers he had sent Sophel for.

He nodded curtly to Trufflehunter. "Are they ready?"

Trufflehunter nodded. "All are there, save myself and Thebeu the Maenad." Trufflehunter was a respected member of the council, but also Caspian's personal friend. He came to Caspian before each council and gave him an idea of what to expect.

Caspian was not surprised to hear that Thebeu was missing. She categorically avoided the Telmarine capital (as a matter of prinicple, she'd told him). It only made life more difficult for all of them, but Thebeu did not care. "All right, I expected that. Anything else?"

Trufflehunter nodded. "They are very angry, Caspian. Word has leaked out of the Telmarine council's meeting this morning. But they also heard of how you interrupted it, or, as they see it, fought for them. You should have little trouble in persuading them to follow your lead."

Caspian could barely keep himself from shouting. They can't follow my lead! Can you imagine if all the Narnians started acting as I did? I am tolerated because I am king. They would be decimated.

"And Caspian," He glanced up, surprised. He had thought Trufflehunter finished. "Gilyané is here."

And he'd thought there could be no more surprises today. But he was too weary to respond as he might have earlier. "Why?" he asked simply.

"She wishes to observe, to see if her race will join the Narnian council." Trufflehunter took a step back at the young king's expression.

"Her race? There's all of one of her, and she wants to talk about her race being represented?! Why doesn't she just say she wants a voice in the council? I offered her a position and she turned it down. But now her race--" He threw his head to the ceiling and screamed silently, all the while making flabbergasted hand gestures. Eventually, he took a breath. "Very well. I will talk to her after the meeting. For now, she will just have to observe."

Trufflehunter thought it best not to point out that Gilyané never observed without speaking her observations. "What would you like done with these papers, sire?" He referred to the papers that Sophel had given him.

Caspian took them, skimming them quickly. "I'll take them. In the mean time, we'd better not keep the council waiting any longer."

Trufflehunter was of the opinion this was a very wise, and so they entered the room together. It was, as Caspian had imagined, packed. He could not help but notice that none of Narnians bore so much as the barest trace of a grin.

"I declare this meeting of the Narnian council open. Now, as you are all aware--" He got no further. A vengeful dwarf had gotten up to his full height (though it wasn't much). Caspian could see, a split second before it happened, what the dwarf would say. _Why is it always dwarfs?_ he wondered. _What did I ever do to them?_

"We've heard all about the Telmarine council this morning! We want our justice!" More than a few voices voices agreed with him. Knowing it was useless, Caspian opened his mouth to try and calm him. Before he had said a word, more cries were heard.

"The Telmarines have taken everything from us! We will fight for our rights!"

"It's not the High Council without Narnians!"

"How did they get the seal anyway?"

"What are we going to do?"

"We'll fight!"

"If we do we'll die. Have you forgotten how much stronger the Telmarines are?"

"Well listen here, you--"

Caspian put his head in his hands. _And we're off..._

--

Susan didn't remember drifting off into sleep, only that she was finally dreaming. It was as she'd hoped, she was dreaming in the same place as last night. She was in Narnia.

He was there too, this time sitting in the meadow. Her whole face lit up when she saw him. It was an irrational response, seeing as how this was only a dream. But right now, she didn't care. The dream was good, and she would enjoy it for as long as she could.

To him, it was like the sun had come out after a day of overcast skies. Caspian had spent the rest of the day making good on his promises to the council, and working with the Narnians to see who wanted to live in the city. Only the very brave or the very naive volunteered. They all knew this forced integration wouldn't be easy. No one wanted to be the one to suffer for the bias of the Telmarines. Caspian just hoped he was doing the right thing.

He could not sleep, not for the longest time. He had laid awake thinking about what he had imagined about Miraz in the council chamber. What power did Miraz still hold over him?

He was forced to think about every way he and Miraz were similar. Everything he did, people thought of Miraz. Am I just like him? Do I deserve to rule?

He could not stay awake forever. He had eventually drifted off. And here he was, with her again. Her smiling face warmed his heart, but the doubt was still there. And, unfair though it was, he unburdened himself to her. He didn't even think about it being a dream. He just wanted someone to tell him it was all right.

Susan listened silently. She wished with all her heart she could ease Caspian's mind. But she knew that she did not have that power. Caspian was experiencing the doubt that all rulers had when they met their first real opposition. She knew how hard it was, how utterly alone you felt. She had had her siblings to help her, and it had still been hard.

She wanted to cry when he told her how he doubted he was any different from Miraz. Couldn't he see that he was? Couldn't he see how much better he was than Miraz?

She had to speak. "Caspian." He looked at her with tortured eyes. "You are not like Miraz. You have had the power to kill your greatest enemy. And you did not because it was not right to kill him. It was your right, and you refused it. Do you think he would have hesitated? You are so very, very different from him."

He nodded. "It helps, talking to you. I wish there was someone, anyone I could talk to! But I am alone."

She hesitated, remembering Edmund's words about Caspian being married. But he didn't seem like a man in love. Why would he marry then? "Caspian?"

He looked at her, and her resolve melted. "Yes?"

She had to look away. His eyes were filled with too much emotion- hope, pain, joy, maybe even… love. "Nothing." She smiled at him. "Nothing at all."

* * *

**This plot keeps exploding on me. I don't know when it got so complicated.**

**Ha, my spellchecker wants to call Trufflehunter Headhunter. I wonder how he would respond to that. For those of you wondering, a Maenad is a creature from the Chronicles of Narnia (according to Wikipedia (Look, my spellchecker knows that Wikipedia is a word!). Not exactly the most reliable source)**.

**If you have any comments (things I can improve on, things you liked/didn't like, ect.), please leave a review. Heck, even if you don't have any comments, please leave a review! Actually don't, because a blank review would be weird. But please tell me what you think.  
**


	8. Family Ties

**A/N: A new chapter! For everyone who is reading this... THANK YOU! If I didn't have the support and incentive to finish this story, I probably wouldn't. Brownies for everyone! Though, for the most complete idea of what's going on, you should probably read chapter seven again with the newly added part if you haven't already. (Actually, I killed off all of the characters there! And you'll never know unless you read it! Mwahahaha..haha...hic. Yes, I am slightly mad.)**

**Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review!**

* * *

Susan awoke to the smell of burning. Generally, when waking up in a new house from a marvelous dream, that's not a good sign.

Her eyes snapped open; a reflex from times when burning meant something far different. It was just the faintest scent of smoke in the air that had her thinking of Narnia. That's probably not a good sign when it comes to moving on, she thought with a mental sigh. Then her eyes registered Lucy's face, hovering inches away.

"Gaa!" Susan sat upright and promptly smacked her head into Lucy's. This was not an infrequent occurrence. Lucy had a habit of waking people up by staring at them. It was really a little worrying to wake up and find her face right in front of you. It always gave Susan a shock, which is why she had expressly told Lucy not to do it any more.

Lucy was apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry, Su! I didn't know you'd wake up right then!"

Susan refrained from asking what Lucy thought she would do instead. There was a slightly more immediate problem on hand. A gust of wind brought the scent closer to her, and reminded her again of the smoke. She made an effort to keep her voice calm and even. "Lucy, why do I smell smoke?" She really didn't think she'd succeeded.

Lucy smiled brightly. Susan noticed that she was already dressed, despite the early hour. Or was it late? How long had she slept?

"Peter's cooking breakfast," Lucy trilled. She wore a mischievous smile, as if she knew what Susan might say.

Susan pinched the bridge of her nose. She was reminiscing Peter's previous cooking attempts. When they had been royalty, they hardly ever needed to cook. So when her and her siblings had returned to Narnia last year and had to fend for themselves, it had brought to light a number of skills. Or, in Peter's case, the lack thereof. Any of the Pevensies could eat soldier's fare, hard bread and the lot, but no one liked it. After Peter's cooking experiments (one involving an out of control fire), they had all decided to eat like soldiers indefinitely. She remembered one occasion in particular.

_They had been walking for what seemed like hours, barely noticing the change from daylight to dusk. Eventually, Peter had stopped. "We'd better stop here, and eat something for the night." They were all too weary to argue._

_While Trumpkin started the little fire, Edmund pulled five potato-like tubers out of his pockets. "Found these along the trail," he said indifferently. "They taste like potatoes, well enough. I suppose we could have them for dinner." Susan had been dog tired (with Lucy all but asleep on her lap), but she did not miss the way Peter's eyes lit up at the prospect of dinner._

_"I know how to prepare those all right, Ed. Just give them to me," he'd said, utterly confident._

_Edmund had shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know that these are like potatoes, Pete. Maybe I should-"_

_"You said they tasted like potatoes. They look like them. What else could they be?" Ed shrugged, having no answer. Peter took the potatoes, all five of them, and buried them in the fire's coals._

_"Peter, maybe you should just try it with one potato. We don't know how it'll work." Susan remembered too much of Peter's cooking from the previous night to be utterly confident with him now._

_"Su, trust me, I've done this—"_

Pop!

_They had all looked up, surprised, wary even. Peter leaned in to where the sound had come from, where the potatoes were._

_"Did that potato just… pop?" Susan couldn't quite believe what she had heard._

_"I can't tell," Peter said. "It sounds jolly strange, though. Like hissing…"_

_Even Susan could hear it, far from the fire as she was. Trumpkin, who until now had had no interest the night's proceedings, looked up. He saw the fire and heard the noise and seemed to understand in an instant. "Your Highness, look out!"_

_Peter's eyes widened in understanding, but he was too close to the fire, which now looked to be bubbling. He tried to move back, but it was obvious he wouldn't be fast enough. Susan saw, a split second before it happened, that the fire was about to explode._

_Then Edmund was there, holding Peter's shield in front of them both. Where he had come from, Susan didn't know. But he was not a second too late. The fire exploded with an almighty bang and hiss. It was not really the fire that exploded, but the potatoes. Fiery bits of them were flung everywhere, scorching the ground where they touched. For a horrible second, Susan thought it had gone over the shield._

_But then the shield moved, and Peter and Edmund emerged. Both looked shaken as they observed burning potato bits around them. Susan was sure that Peter was imagining that scorching his face and arms. _

_They all turned at the sound of crunching. It was Trumpkin. At first, Susan thought he had been burned. But then he picked up a still-burning piece of potato and ate it, crunching all the while. "Burmpers," he said matter-of a-factly. "Look like potatoes (and taste like them raw, too) until you put them too close to fire. Or in a fire. They taste marvelous!" He closed his eyes as though lost in pleasure. "Of course," he added, peeling and eyelid open, "they're far too hot for your little human tongues. Burn holes in them. But to a dwarf…" He closed his eyes again._

_They all looked at Peter, who gave a shaky laugh. "Told you I knew how to prepare those." Edmund rolled his eyes and smacked him over the head._

So it was with this in mind that Susan answered Lucy. "Peter's… cooking?" There was as much skepticism as question in her tone.

Lucy, who was also remembering Peter's various experiments, thought for a moment. "He's either cooking, or willfully destroying the kitchen. It all depends on your point of view."

"Not in this new house, he's not!" Susan cried, jumping out of bed. She just had time to register the fact that she had slept in her now rumpled clothes, again, before rushing out the door and towards the kitchen. The smell of smoke was stronger than ever. She could hear voices, Edmund's and Peter's, in the kitchen. Edmund was apparently trying to reason with Peter.

"Just put down the frying pan, Pete! You're getting cooking fat all over the place!"

"Don't be silly, Ed. It's not that hard, and I'm doing it right!" Peter's tone, however, revealed how nervous he was.

"Yes, well, you may think that, but you're not the one who has to eat it. I, on the other hand… Hey, what are you doing with that? Be careful! That's hot, ouch, it's hot!" Susan was fairly sure that Ed was exaggerating for drama's sake. However, with Peter's cooking, it was always hard to tell…

Susan burst into the kitchen, Lucy right behind her. A mess of plates, silverware, pans and tins greeted her eyes. Peter was crouched over a pot or two on the small stove, trying to stop something from burning. One of the pans appeared to be dissolving into smoke. Edmund was filling up the tea kettle with water. He turned around to see Susan, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, Peter," Peter turned and saw Susan. Ed laughed nervously. "I'll just be going now…" Apparently, though, Peter had other plans. He grabbed Ed's collar and pulled him back into the tiny kitchen. With all four of them crowded inside, there was very little room.

Susan pushed past Peter to the smoking dish. She hurriedly removed it from the heat, and ran it under the still-cool tap water. Eventually, the smoke ceased. She could tell that the contents must be meat, probably sausage. She set the pan down beside the sink, then turned to face her guilty brothers.

"Why?" A simple enough question. Peter knew it was directed at him. He squirmed, staring at the floor. It was hard to meet Susan's gaze when it was ice-cold.

"Edmund snores. He woke me up early, so I decided to make breakfast." Peter shifted nervously.

Edmund's dignity was affronted. "I do not snore!"

"Yes, you do," Lucy chimed in. "I could hear you all night long."

"Through the walls?" He snorted. "Please. It must have been Su."

"Nope, it was you," Lucy said with a smile. Susan had a fleeting but sincere hope that she didn't talk in her sleep. If the wall were think enough to hear a snore through, only think how much of her words while asleep could be heard!

"Regardless," Susan said, clearing her throat. "Peter, you know you can't cook. It was a sweet thought, but why on earth-" She took a breath. "What exactly were you making?"

Was it her imagination, or did Peter stand a little straighter? "There was sausage, eggs and two roasted tomatoes. I thought we should have a proper English breakfast for our first morning here." Susan declined to mention that a proper English breakfast rarely involved copious amounts of smoke. She was instead considering the prospect of tomatoes. If they weren't burnt too badly, they might still be edible.

She knew she was just imagining. No matter how badly the food was burnt or cooked, they would eat it. Food was too precious with rationing to throw away a meal. She sighed. They could try and scrape the worst of the burnt bits off of the bacon. "At least the eggs won't have suffered much," she mused aloud.

Ed gave a barking laugh. "They could hardly taste worse."

Peter cuffed him lightly on the head. "Mind your manners, can't you? Do something useful and set up for breakfast." Disgruntled, Ed did as he was told.

Susan and Peter set to work removing the worst of the black from the bacon and eggs. Lucy cleaned up some of the mess that had arisen in the kitchen and opened a window, trying to get the smell of smoke out. It didn't help much, though. Something must have caught fire the previous night, for there was smoldering rubble in the street. Passers by avoided it, looking at the ground. No one looked up. It was a depressing scene.

"Peter, where did you put the milk?" The worst of being in a new kitchen, Susan thought, was not knowing where anything was.

He looked up from his task of stacking the plates with food. "It's on the upper shelf of the cupboard."

Susan felt around and eventually pulled the tin of dried milk from the very back of a shelf. She proceeded to mix it with water in a pitcher. Out of the four Pevensies, only Lucy was given an allotted amount of milk each week, because she was a child. The dried powdery stuff was mixed with water and drunken as a glassful at breakfast and dinner. Lucy despised being the only one to have it. She viewed it as a punishment, rather than a treat.

Peter, meanwhile, had set the table for breakfast. Susan viewed the sparse portions dispiritedly. It was hardly a "proper" English breakfast. But it was what had become conventional for the times they lived in. The dried eggs, bacon, and tomatoes were carefully portioned. The rest of the plate contained bread and fruit from the tiny victory garden which took up the front lawn. And, par usual, Lucy had a small glass of milk.

Peter, sensing her train of thought, made a face somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "Not quite a Narnian feast, is it?" Not bothering to answer, Susan sat down. Her family followed suit.

Edmund was already munching down his meal. Susan hoped that he didn't grow any more, owing to the fact that the more he grew the more he ate. It was to the point of ridiculousness.

"Pass the salt."

"Is there any more bacon?"

"Here, have mine Lu, I don't want it."

Just a normal family having a normal breakfast in the middle of a war. And yet… they all were so much more.

--

Cleaning up after a meal, Edmund decided, was the worst part of eating. He hated washing the plates of their scraps of leftover food, scraping off anything that had dried onto the plate. At least when the table was just set, it was clean and pretty. He just didn't like cleaning up after.

Peter noticed. Peter was very conscious of when people were shirking their duty…. Probably had something to do with his being High King, Edmund decided. "Don't sulk, Ed. Just wash up like everyone else." He accompanied his words with a grab for the plate in Edmund's stony hands.

Edmund was getting rather sick of Peter's I-am-the-leader attitude. He was doing everything a little more forcefully. Why? He'd figure it out, soon enough. But for now, Peter needed a lesson. "You know, I've always wondered what your violent attitude showed about you."

He looked up, surprised. "What violent attitude?"

"You can't do anything without being harsh about it. Overcompensating for something, perhaps?"

Now he just looked annoyed. He rolled his eyes. "Ed, you're being ridiculous-"

He ran right over Peter's words. "I think it shows low self-esteem. Perhaps a desire to be more of a leader. And, of course, a lack of connection to sensitivity."

Peter dropped the dishes into the sink with a thud ("Look, another violent act!" Ed cried). "Come with me."

Edmund vaguely wondered what, exactly, had been important enough for Peter to stop cleaning up for. He was now following him down a short, narrow hallway that lead to their shared room. Peter stopped at a door to the right of theirs, took out a key and unlocked it.

Edmund was shocked. "You said that room was storage, that we couldn't use it!"

"Well, it is storage," was the reply. "Just not quite the way I made it sound. Come in, and shut the door behind you." Edmund did so.

The entire room was set up like an artist's studio. There were canvases, true, but mostly what appeared to be pages from a schoolbook had been covered and painted over many times. A row of paint bottles sat along a shelf. And Peter sat in the middle of it all; painting from his pallet a picture of fauns dancing around a fire. Their feet seemed to fly around the fire. In the background was a forest… but, when Edmund looked closely, he could see it wasn't a forest at all. It was a set of pipes, being played by an elderly faun. His expression was one of utmost joy.

"What _is_ this place?" Edmund was torn between reverence for the beauty of Peter's work (for that was what it must be) and horror that he had put so much money into a hobby. The Pevensies weren't rich enough to afford an expensive hobby like painting.

And yet… And yet they had been able to afford a strange number of comforts lately. This house, for one thing. Though his sisters might look on it and see the plain grey curtains and wood floors, Edmund saw the location: one of the safest areas in London. He saw the size and the little garden and knew this house cost more money than they should have had. And then the train up… not crowded or dirty, but in a private berth they had travelled. Yet none of the Pevensies had a job, not really. Though Father had left a trust fund, it was sure to run out soon.

Were these paintings the answer? Had Peter been making money with them?

Peter watched these thoughts play out on Edmund's face. _He's guessing_, Peter thought wryly. _He may not like it but he understands_. Aloud he said "It's my studio, or as much of one as I'm likely to have."

Edmund shook his head back and forth, as if trying to clear it. When Peter opened his mouth to explain, Edmund stopped him. "It's all right. I've wondered where the extra money was coming from, for lush trains and houses and sweets for Lucy. Now I know. It's just a lot to take in."

Peter's mouth twitched; it was not only Lucy who had eaten any sweets that entered the house. He waited for Edmund to finish absorbing it, correctly figuring that Ed couldn't stay silent for long.

Edmund walked around the room, examining the paintings. "You can't make much money with these. No one wants to buy art nowadays." Despite the phrasing, it was a question.

"You'd be surprised," Peter said with a dry voice. "Many folk are insistent on continuing life as normal. Look at us- even we try and do it, though this family is about as far from normal as we can get." It wasn't an insult, and Edmund did not take it as one. "Most of the time I try to sell directly to clients. There's a gentleman in London who has a fancy restaurant (swanky, pearls and the lot) with a room that will be done entirely in works by me. This," he indicated the faun painting, "is for him. Other times I just have to sell it to dealers."

Edmund nodded, considering. What Peter said made sense. But there was still one thing he didn't understand. "Why me? Why are you showing this to me?"

Peter sighed. He should have known Ed would pick out the one question he didn't want to answer. "Because sometimes, I worry that you're right. About me, that is. Wanting to be more of a leader and all that. I can't go into the military, and there's not much else which has leadership involved. All the young men are now off to war. I see them stare at me when I pass, wondering why I'm not volunteering. It's barely six months until the draft catches up to me and I'm off to war whether Mum likes it or not. But for now, I can't get a job. No one wants to hire a young man- it'll look unpatriotic. So the only thing I can do is paint. And no one acknowledges that."

Ed looked at Peter, really looked, and saw how frustrated he was. He wanted to tell him that he hadn't meant anything by his words. But, as was with all his words, he probably had meant something by it. Even in his joke, there was truth whether he acknowledged it or not.

So, to try and distract Peter, he walked around and viewed the paintings. He glanced at one and then stopped up short. "What?" he gasped.

Peter hurried over. He relaxed a little when he saw what Edmund was staring at. "Is the brocade a little too muddy? I was worried about that."

"No, no, it's… fine. But that's… that's Susan!"

So it was. Perfectly reproduced onto canvas, Susan's frank blue eyes seemed to stare at them. But she was smiling, laughing even. She was a little older, in her twenties perhaps. It was certainly an image of her in the Golden Age. Her dress was pale pink silk, with long billowing sleeves. A brocade stomacher and overskirt, gold shot with pink and green, covered the dress. Her eyes seemed to lack the sadness that they had nowadays.

Peter's voice was sad. "It's Susan as she was." So he had intentionally painted her eyes thus? That was interesting. They both looked at the portrait for several minutes more. It was obvious to Edmund that he had painted this picture not for money, but because he wished to remember.

Then Edmund looked to his left with a start. There was another portrait there, much in the same style as Susan's. But the subject was not, as he'd expected it to be, Lucy. It was instead a young woman about the age of Peter himself. Her auburn hair was made up of tight curls. Her eyes were a frank, unrelenting grey. But they smiled out of the portrait. She wore a simple dress of deep brown. Although he didn't know what type of fabric it was, it looked expensive. A dull gold belt hung around her waist. "Peter?" He looked over. "Who is this?"

To Edmund's great amusement, Peter blushed. His curiosity was immediately heightened. Who could it be? "Wait… Pete, it's not that girl you knew in the Golden Age is it?" The blush deepened, and Edmund knew he was right. She and Peter had been infatuated, now that he thought about it. It must have killed him to leave her, he thought, mildly impressed that Peter hadn't let it show. "What was her name again?"

Peter's eyes stared off into the distance. Whether this was because he was seeing something Edmund couldn't or because he didn't want to meet Ed's eyes, he didn't know. "Gilyané. Her name was Gilyané."

* * *

**For those who are wondering, her name is pronounced Jill-ANN-ae (ae meaning a long a). Yes, the pronunciation is significant. No, I won't tell you anything else. You're all bright folk. Figure it out.**

**As always, I would very much like it if you would leave a review. It doesn't take very long and it really means a lot to the author. Thanks so much!**


	9. Reality

**Merry Christmas, all. I'm finally updating this story. Since it's winter break, I've had a chance to do some writing. I hope you enjoy it! As always I would love a review if you could spare a minute to tell me what you think. Reviews mean a lot to the author (and honestly, it makes me feel like the story is worthwhile). New chapter will be coming soon. Song quotes from Twilight by Vanessa Carlton, I thought they fit.  
**

**As the sun shines through it pushes away and pushes ahead  
It fills the warmth of blue and leaves a chill instead and  
I didn't know that I could be so blind to all that is so real  
But as illusion dies I see there is so much to be revealed **

* * *

Susan couldn't help but feel that it was all beyond ridiculous. The Pevensies had been in London for over a week, and during that time she had looked for work. No one was hiring. Every place that had a 'help wanted' sign, every office which needed a new employee- all of them had turned her down. She shouldn't be surprised, she knew. Jobs were scarce and she was young. But _really_! She got the impression half the people simply didn't want to hire her. Unfounded, she knew. But she had been unreasonably turned down, and she didn't like it.

She was constantly telling Caspian about it in her dreams. She smiled briefly. A psychologist would doubtless find her dreams very interesting. Logically, she knew she was making up both sides of the conversation. Her sub-conscious had dragged up the image of Caspian as the person whom she would talk to. Her fears for Narnia had been personified by him. Very logical. In layman's terms, she was lonely and talking to herself in dreams.

Honestly, it was a bit pathetic. But it brought her closer to closure than she'd been in many months. So it would continue.

She knew that Edmund and Peter were watching her and to some degree, so was Lucy. But they could at least be happy for her, or put on the act of appearing so. Lucy asked no questions. Until now, Susan had never realized just how much she appreciated that.

So, irrationally, the favorite part of her day would continue to be the time spent asleep. Asleep and yet awake, talking to Caspian, who understood her. Because he was her. She was still having a hard time wrapping her head around it although logically, it wasn't hard.

Logically…

She didn't want to think about logic any more. For now, she was content to sleep. It was early in the night, only just after dinner, but she went straight to bed. Soon, she would see Narnia again. She smiled as she lay down on her bed and prayed the only thing close to a prayer that had passed through her lips in many months. Please. _Please._

--

Susan was definitely up to something, Peter decided. He didn't know what or why- but he intended to find out.

The first week he, Susan, Edmund and Lucy had returned from Narnia had been awful. No one ever mentioned it. Edmund and Lucy had understood that their siblings just needed to change their perspective of life and that would take a little while. Likewise, neither of them asked what Aslan had said to him and Susan. He had never volunteered the information. And now it seemed it would all come back to that.

He sighed. Edmund was going to be so smug about his older brother coming to him for advice. Briefly he considered working through it himself.

If it was anyone but Susan, he thought. Anyone else I'd try to work it out myself. He entered the room he and Edmund shared without knocking, as was his custom. He expected to find Edmund with his head buried in a textbook, or something similar.

He was not expecting to straight walk into a pacing Edmund, who had obviously been agitated for some time. It probably didn't help that Peter had hit him with the door when it swung open, either.

Their room was a mess of papers and opened textbooks. A large world map with pins stuck in seemingly at random dominated the left side of the room. Several smaller maps of Spain, South America, the Caribbean, and Iceland lay on the floor. Charts and notes in what Peter recognized as Edmund's handwriting sat in stacks beside the beds.

Edmund seemed oblivious to Peter's gaping. In fact, he seemed to be talking to himself in a quiet voice, and pacing… again. Peter coughed loudly. Edmund's head turned, but he didn't greet Peter or stop his monologue.

"Edmund! What in Aslan's name are you doing?" Peter had decided a more drastic tactic was needed.

Ed finally turned towards him, looking hassled. "I'm trying to find a link between messenger, Viking, or pirate ships that have gone missing in the years since 440 A.D., the Bermuda Triangle, and Narnia. Any other questions?"

"But…" Suddenly Peter had an idea. "Oh. I see. The Telamarines. You're trying to find their tie to our world, aren't you?" A nod from Edmund confirmed it. "But what's the Bermuda Triangle have to do with anything?"

"Maybe nothing," Edmund sighed. "It's just a hope. It's a known area where ships have disappeared without a trace. Communications have been jammed, or lost. You can't contact Narnia from our world."

"That's not technically true. None of us ever tried. And from what Professor Kirke said, it is possible for the two worlds to communicate." Peter sighed. "The White Witch certainly did."

Edmund frowned, but let it drop. "So I was researching any Spanish-speaking areas which had sailing capabilities at about the right time, but I need more information. Because there's a war on, I can hardly just call up Spain and ask for any information on Spanish ships which disappeared under mysterious circumstances in the last thousand years. I wrote to the _Biblioteca Nacional de E__spaña_, but it could be months before I get a reply, even until the end of the war!" Edmund threw himself on the bed but bounced up just as quickly. "Then I had a revelation. The people didn't need to speak Spanish- who knows what accents they had? So I started researching Vikings, but since that was so long ago it's virtually a dead end too. That brings me to where I am now."

This was Edmund's new project, Peter could tell. He wouldn't rest until he'd found an answer that satisfied him, and possibly not even then. "So where are you now?"

Edmund sighed as he glanced over a chart. "Floundering," he admitted. "Hopefully not for long, though. I've just had an idea that none of us need to be speaking the same languages. Perhaps we're just hearing their words in the language most familiar to us. Was there something you wanted?"

This was it. Peter swallowed his pride. "About Susan…"

Edmund interrupted him. "She's asleep. I guess she had a tiring day. No one seems to be hiring was the gist of what she said." He turned back to his work.

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again. Why should he trouble Edmund? He should just talk to Susan herself. Besides, if he was to be honest, Edmund probably already knew. That might even be the reason for this new project of his: to keep his mind off what on earth was going on with Susan. He left, closing the door behind him quietly. Then, walking softly down the hall, he went into Susan's room.

As he walked, he tried to justify it to himself. He was hardly sneaking into Susan's room and spying on her, he wanted to talk to her. Still, the king and gentleman in him rebelled at the thought of waking his sister. He opened the door quietly. He would go away if she was asleep, he reasoned.

Or… not. He had expected Susan to be asleep; after all, that was what Edmund had said. But she wasn't asleep. He immediately knew sleep was hardly the right word.

Peter had always thought he had a rather vocabulary. But there was no word for how Susan looked now. She laid on the bed, still in her day clothes, an apron over her dress. There was not a single line on her face, in itself that was a miracle.

Peter knew his sister was young and beautiful, but since she'd returned there had been a permanent line between her brows, a few wrinkles around her eyes of worry that never left, even in her sleep or laughter. With a start, he realized that he had become used to those lines. They were part of Susan. But it hadn't always been that way. He'd forgotten.

This was one of the points of his paintings: to remember. It was obviously a futile effort, he realized now. Constant exposure to the lines of pain and worry on her face had embedded them in his memory until they were part of what he recognized as Susan.

But that was not the most worrying thing of all.

Susan lay on the bed without moving. There was no movement of breath that was visible to the eye, no twitch, nothing. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was dead.

But neither was this the most worrying thing.

The most worrying thing was that Susan was, for lack of a better word, faded. There was just a shadow of her on the bed. He could never describe it, not with all the words in the world. She was opaque, as if she was a ghost. A ghost, or a memory. Unearthly.

Or simply in another world.

He staggered towards the bed, his face white and blanched. The conversation he'd just had with Edmund floated to the front of his mind unbidden. Edmund had said there was no way to contact Narnia.

But it hadn't been true, Peter himself had pointed out the discrepancy. And just because they didn't know about other ways didn't necessarily mean they didn't exist.

His hand hovered over Susan's pale, deathly hand. He had no idea what on earth (or in Narnia, for that matter) he was doing. Aslan's power was unpredictable. But he knew something of magic, normal (as if it could ever be considered that!) magic. He had no doubt that when he touched Susan's hand, he would come to same place Susan was. He needed a focusing image. The painting of Susan rose in his mind's eye.

For a second, Peter hesitated. Did he really want to show up in Susan's dream, her last shot at happiness in this life? He stared at the pale hand again. It wasn't really life, though.

For a moment ore, the High King of Narnia wrestled with the morality of entering unbidden into Susan's private dream. The gentleman in him screamed.

But the brother and protector of the family, which he had always been, came first. So with a fleeting glance at the room, High King Peter grasped his sister's hand and entered into a world not quite of ours, and not quite Narnia. A place of dreams where reality is never what it seems.

--

Caspian felt like banging his head against the solid oak desk he sat at. Repeatedly.

Actually, that wasn't accurate. He felt like he had just hit his head into the desk, and now the desk was telling him that he hadn't done so and now needed to do it again. And then the cycle would repeat until he had a fit, the desk became offended and left.

Actually, it felt like he had just done this. Several times, in fact.

And now he was sitting at said desk, explaining to what must be the fifth time to a (literally) spitting mad snow leopard why he could not allow said leopard to simply take over the land on which his ancestors had lived, and on which now resided several Telemarine homes.

"Sir Leopard, I am afraid I cannot simply remove families who have harmed no one from their lands. I understand that your ancestors lived there, but I will not condone the razing of homes because of old land claims." Caspian was sure he'd said this already. It seemed like almost all Narnian feuds sprouted from two sources- insults and land. He never would have believed that rebuilding a country, literally, would be so hard. Many Narnians wanted the land their ancestors had held, plus compensation for losses during the war in the form of land. Unfortunately, Telemarines were stationed on almost every piece of land already, and no one wanted to be turned out of their homes.

In truth, the Leopard had been reasonable with his request. He had not asked for all the land, and he was speaking for a group of three leopards. Still, Caspian had only just managed to finish negotiations in the area he was interested in. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to start all over and uproot the people again.

Also, if he had to negotiate those lands again, there was a large chance he would go mad.

The Leopard sniffed. "Telemarine homes," he said. "On Narnian lands." It was obvious from his tone which was more important to him.

"These are also Telemarine lands, Sir Leopard. You also have a Telemarine king." Caspian's eyes glittered dangerously. The Narnians had been, as a whole, more accepting of the Telemarines than the Telemarines of the Narnians, but not by much.

The Leopard bowed (no mean task for a Leopard), accepting that, but also hearing that Caspian would not serve only his interests. Caspian suppressed a sigh.

It was time the nation remembered that they might be two races, but only one kingdom. It was time they remembered that if they did not allow their prejudices to color their minds, the two races would live in peace, even in friendship.

Suddenly, he had an idea. "Walk with me, Sir Leopard?" The leopard's face did not change, but there was a certain straightening of his back with showed Caspian that the leopard was honored. After all, to be invited to walk with the king did not happen to just anyone.

The two walked in companionable silence for a little while. Then Caspian turned down a side corridor, the leopard at his heals. He opened a shutter on a small window on the room. From there, all of the courtyard could be seen.

It was an amazing sight. The courtyard was filled with young children, young Animals also. They were simply playing together. Supervising the children (although not very actively) were a few Telemarine mothers and a Stag. The joy on the faces of the children was impossible to mistake.

They watched together for a few moments, then Caspian closed the shutters. "Glaanar down there once thought as you did," he said quietly. "He has lost everything because of the war, his home, his fawn-child Drihlar. Susilana, the tall woman in white, once thought as you did too. Her home was burned out by revengeful Narnians during the war, and he husband conscripted into the Telemarine army. He died not knowing what he fought for, not even knowing why he fought, and why the person who he cut down with his blade was his enemy. Susilana lived in fear and anger. Glaanar lived in bitterness and loss."

"But something changed. They both grew sick of hate. Why should they be enemies? Why should they not comfort each other in their grief? What made them enemies?"

"Glaanar and Susilana both see something that is only beginning to form, a peaceful front, a united Narnia. They have found understanding out of madness, combined courage in the face of evil. They are trying to teach others, but it is a slow process. Narnia has fought against itself for so long that few even remember why they should hate their enemy, only that they do."

"What you see down there is something new. A new beginning for a better Narnia. Something that's been missing so long from this land is taking root down there: peace. That's what everything is headed towards."

Caspian turned to the leopard. "So this is how things are, Sir Leopard. I cannot return your lands to you. But I can offer you a place at the palace, if you are willing to make peace. If you cannot put aside your old prejudices, you do not belong here. Narnia is becoming unified, Sir Leopard, and _we_, this castle, are the heart of that."

The leopard looked thoughtful, if that were possible. "You have given me much to consider," he said at last. "I must consult with the others." He bowed again, and this time, Caspian flattered himself that there might be a touch of real respect in it.

--

Susan was sitting on a rock and staring out over Narnia. This was her favorite place to be, although she'd hiked the entire area over at least twice. She never got tired, or even short of breath. Somehow that wasn't surprising. Everything was so crisp, so clear. How could spending time here do anything but improve your health?

She smiled a little at the irony of that. Surely her mental health was suffering quite a bit, when she had to retreat into her own mind to find peace.

Someone touched her shoulder. Susan smiled and turned, laughing as she did so. "Caspian, you're late. What-" Her voice stopped. The figure was not Caspian. Dressed in plain British clothes, frank brown eyes, a frown on his face. The figure made a disgusted noise.

"Caspian? I should have figured he'd have something to do with it." It couldn't be. There was no way it was possible. Peter could not be standing here, in her mind. She never would have imagined him here.

Of course, that really only left one possible explanation. She wasn't just dreaming. Whatever this place was, whatever it did, somehow it was real. Somehow Peter could enter.

Either that or she was mad.

Susan could not keep her mind from continuing the logical cycle. If it's real, then Caspian… the conversations… they must be real, also. She took a quick glance at Peter's stormy face.

Madness was sounding better and better.

She found her voice. "What are you doing here, Peter?"

He scowled. "I should think a better question would be what you are doing here."

He was going to be like that, was he? Well, fine. "I'm dreaming," she said angrily. "I didn't invite you into my dream."

Peter blushed for a moment, then sighed in exasperation. "Well, I came anyway, which means this isn't a dream, obviously. And where does Caspian come into this?"

It was Susan's turn to color. "I…um…"

"Susan!" It couldn't be that voice. Not right now. She was seriously going to crack up, and then Peter would have no one but himself to blame.

And Caspian, though it wouldn't really be his fault.

Peter heard the voice too. "Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear," he muttered. "Caspian, I want a word with you!"

Caspian suddenly seemed to appear down a side path. "_Peter_?"

"Caspian." Peter's voice was a flat monotone.

It was all suddenly far, far too much for Susan's mind to handle. She was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that she had _actually_ been talking to Caspian the entire time and never known.

Pull yourself together, her inner voice commanded. No time to act like a damsel in distress!

Unfortunately, Susan had gotten into the habit of ignoring that voice.

She slid off the rock, onto the ground, and concentrated on breathing. Regardless, the world started to blur around her.

Exactly like a damsel in distress, she thought as she blacked out.

* * *

**Sorry for the slight cliff-hanger. I promise the rest is coming soon! Please leave a review, and thanks for reading. By the way, what did you think of Caspian's attempt at diplomacy?**


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